


Leander

by sunryder



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Kid Fic, M/M, Mycroft Holmes Has Feelings, Rough Trade, Unusual S/G Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 44,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9829841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunryder/pseuds/sunryder
Summary: Greg Lestrade isn’t a Sentinel, and he’s sure as hell not a Guide. He’s good at his job and he’s been told that he’s got an even temper, none of which are any kind of justification for his son coming online as a Prime. All he can say is, thank fuck for Mycroft Holmes.





	1. Chapter 1

When laymen said they could ‘feel a storm’ coming, what they meant was they could feel a rise in humidity and the drop in barometric pressure that precipitates rainfall. Just because they lacked the appropriate terminology, they were not exempt from the reality that what they were ‘feeling’ were observable scientific facts. 

Sherlock Holmes reminded himself of this truth because he had never before been so tempted to declare that something felt wrong. 

While the barometric pressure had not changed, and London was no more cloudy than usual, the closest approximation for that Sherlock could summon for his sense of unease was that a storm was coming, though not a literal one. Because people were idiots who didn’t bother subjecting the non-physical Sentinel senses to accurate scientific protocols, he lacked the data to describe his current sensation as anything more specific. It wasn’t his sight or his skin that was reacting to the storm, it was the ephemeral part of being a Sentinel. That part that meant Mycroft could feel it when Sherlock was about to OD, just as Sherlock had known that John had been kidnapped. 

Few things in the world irritated Sherlock more than lazy scientists, and while Sherlock had done all he could to round out his senses and fill in the gaps of things he could not study for himself, there would always be those experiences that he could not recreate or anticipate. That included the small boy who stepped off the Yard’s lift and into the murder bullpen, carrying the storm on his back. (The child had black hair spiked up in a hundred different directions as though he’d been struck by lightning. There were shadows under his eyes that spoke to the lack of sleep he’d been getting while his senses came online—judging by the stumble to his step he’d been sleep deprived for at least a week. He was dressed in the matching, but still dirty, clothes that were the hallmark of a young man trying to seem presentable without the will to actually be it.)

Compiling fragments of his prior experiences—Mycroft as child, a murder victim’s husband going feral at the news, a fellow teenager at the Centre coming online right in the lobby—Sherlock leapt to the certainty that the boy stomping his way across the bullpen was a burgeoning Alpha Prime. Not quite ready to come online, but close enough that despite their own ignorance of their senses, the floor’s Sentinel’s were starting to twitch in discomfort. While Sherlock had expected the storm to be slightly more metaphorical—perhaps a gruesome murder, or another attempt on John’s life—if the boy went feral he would do literal and possibly irreparable damage to himself and others before he was stopped. 

Considering the reaction the reaction that both Sentinels who fancied themselves powerful and those who actually had any strength worth mentioning had to him, some part of Sherlock had suspected he was who the boy was looking for. Instead, the child narrowed his focus straight on Lestrade, wasting not a breath to actually search for the inspector, or recognize that there was another Sentinel standing not two yards away from his target. As impossible as it seemed, Sherlock knew in an instant that the boy had been following Lestrade’s heartbeat, scaling the floors of New Scotland Yard to find him. 

And the boy was not looking at Lestrade like the detective was just a copper he trusted. 

The boy stormed across the bullpen, ignoring the glances some of the Yarders were sending him and striding along with enough confidence that most assumed he ought to be there. The murder squads had more than their fair share of Sentinels and Guides running around the floor, and some of them were competent enough with their senses that already the boy was pinging their consciousness, and a few were processing a fragment of the reality that Sherlock had already come to. (He doubted any of them had been in the presence of a Prime in their lives and undoubtedly assumed the boy was in that rare class of young Sentinel who came online before puberty. That assumption would likely save the boy’s life.)

However, the boy’s special awareness was terrible and his eyes were concerned with nothing other than Lestrade’s laughter at John’s continuing defense of rugby. 

Sherlock let the boy surge along, mentally cataloging the exits and distractions that would get them out of the building before any Yarder could make some particularly idiotic decision, or anyone could pass the message on to the Centre so they could snatch up the child ‘for his own good’. Keeping careful track of the boy, Sherlock tapped in a number that he would never be stupid enough to actually preserve in his phone. 

As always, it rang twice before Mycroft answered. And as happened more often than Sherlock would like to admit, Mycroft leapt three comments ahead. “My car is currently in Level 3 of the Scotland Yard carpark.” Mycroft didn’t need to mention that it would be in position moments before the lift doors opened with Sherlock and company. Nor did he need to mention that if the situation got much more fraught the driver would trust Sherlock’s intuition and meet him on whatever floor he preferred. (Lycius—the driver, and no, Sherlock did not believe that was his real name—always enjoyed playing along with Sherlock’s more impossible driving whims.) Lycius would take them to a location Mycroft had deemed both secure and comfortable for the little Sentinel’s burgeoning senses.

All of this would be obscenely well handled, as was Mycroft’s talent, which left only one question: “Did you arrange this?” 

“No, actually. And believe me, no one is more surprised than I.”

“Forgive me if I find that impossible to believe.”

“Of course. Frankly, I am a bit ashamed of myself for not considering it a possibility.” 

Sherlock snorted and tapped his phone off, never missing the perfunctory snap of old phones quite so much as he did when he concluded conversations with his brother. 

Any training at all and the boy would have been able to keep Lestrade’s heartbeat at the back of his awareness while his more active thoughts were focused on Sherlock’s conversation, or perhaps on the way the massive Sentinel-Inspector Abernathy, who despised both Sherlock and Lestrade, was making his way across the bullpen to head him off before he reached Lestrade’s office. 

(If he devoted himself to more than just the mindless basics, the boy would be able to smell that Abernathy’s aggression wasn't about a young, half-wild, unformed Sentinel in the Yard, it was aimed at Lestrade, and not—as Abernathy claimed—because Lestrade allowed Sherlock to participate in cases, or—as most people suspected—because Sherlock had rolled his eyes when Abernathy tried to play dominance games with him. No, the man hated Lestrade because he was a mundane who had had a better solve rate than him, even before Sherlock came along. Sherlock suspected the boy would learn all manner of skills beyond the ordinary just to protect Lestrade.)

Abernathy’s lieutenant darted over before he reached grabbing distance of the boy and revealed that the Superintendant was conveniently demanding his attention on the phone, forcing Abernathy back to his desk just in time for Sherlock’s phone to buzz in his pocket. Sherlock didn’t need to look to know the message from Mycroft would read, “Faster would be better, dear brother.” Mycroft always got sarcastic when he was feeling harried. 

Sherlock was busy calculating the variables about whether or not Mycroft would have actually been able to drum up a Superintendant capable of keeping Abernathy distracted for a sufficient amount of time, or if it was only someone pretending to be a Superintendant who would manage to keep Abernathy occupied until doomsday. He was deciding on the merits of plausible deniability versus protection when the boy stepped into the room and all of Sherlock’s thoughts derailed. 

Lestrade was high enough up the governmental ladder and dealt with sensitive enough material that his office had the basic Sentinel safety features. The vast majority of the Gifted wouldn’t be able to sense any emotional bleed coming from the room, and most would have to strain their hearing to eavesdrop. Both restrictions were no hindrance to Sherlock, but there was a difference between feeling the wild boy roaming through the building and feeling the boy standing right before him. 

When he was young, Sherlock had been on his parent’s yacht in the Mediterranean when a storm blew in. The relentless rocking of the boat, the thundering of the sky, and the roar of the wind had dominated young Sherlock’s nightmares for weeks. Standing before this boy was not unlike being curled up on that ship, terrified that they might capsize and never see the sun again. The Gifted in the building weren’t calling security or avoiding the boy out of idiocy, but out of the self-preserving fear that even their pathetic hindbrains could manage. Whether or not they had a proper understanding of what the child was, few creatures in the world had the courage to walk into a raging storm.

And Gregory Lestrade was apparently one of them.

“Lee?” Lestrade rose halfway out of his seat and the boy darted across the room in a blur. 

“Papa!”

And… Sherlock’s brain had to restart for a whole new reason. At some later date, Sherlock would go into his mind palace and review every memory he had of Lestrade to wonder how he’d managed to miss that Lestrade had a child. (He justified himself by the obvious lack of genetic connection between Lestrade and the boy, and Lestrade had the sense to keep any pictures of the child out of his office thanks to all the amoral defense barristers who’d visited his space, but that was quite cold comfort at the moment. Especially when he recalled that Mycroft had spoken of considering possibilities about the boy, which Mycroft had known both about the boy and his parentage.)

The boy crashed into Lestrade’s chest, sending both the inspector and his rolling chair careening across the floor in his mad scramble to press his face into the crook of the inspector’s neck. Lestrade bundled the boy up and let him snuggle up just as he liked before he asked, “Lee, what are you doing here?”

The child ignored the question and ran his little cheek across the line of Lestrade’s jaw, soaking in his unadulterated scent and the scratch of the patch of scruff that Lestrade never quite managed to shave. “My vacation starts tomorrow. I was going to come to your mum’s, baby boy. What happened?” 

The boy grumbled something unintelligible, which Sherlock didn’t care to translate. “We have to go.”

“Sherlock!” John scolded.

“Yes, yes, touching family reunion, we all need to leave now.”

“Dammit Sherlock—” The boy didn’t like Sherlock’s tone and whipped around in Lestrade’s lap to bare his teeth in a growl that was far more ferocious than it ought to have been from such a small thing. 

“Lee! What are you doing? You don’t ever growl at people, no matter how much of an ass they are.”

The boy gripped Lestrade’s jacket sleeves but closed his lips in a far more age appropriate pout.

“And you—” Lestrade attempted to scold at precisely the same time John caught up and demanded, “Family reunion?” As was and always would be, Sherlock answered John first.

“The boy is Lestrade’s stepson, or rather, the rough equivalent thereof since Lestrade never married his mother. Now can we go?”

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock actually paused at that one. “He knew that you aren’t his birth father if that's what you’re concerned about.”

Lestrade sighed in the way Sherlock was intimately familiar with meant he’d guessed wrong about the emotion being displayed and Lestrade wasn’t in the mood to enlighten him. (It was amongst the worst of his sighs. Ranking only slightly above the one where Lestrade was disappointed in Sherlock and didn’t think Sherlock gave enough of a damn to do better.) “Will you two just give me a minute?”

“No.”

“Yes.” John snapped, grabbing Sherlock and hauling him towards the door.

“Look at the boy, John. War zones have the highest occurrence of spontaneous emergence. You know what’s happening.”

“Sherlock.” Lestrade’s voice had gone dangerously thin. Lee had apparently decided that pressing himself against his stepfather was far more worth his energy than continuing to posture. He pressed his ear to Lestrade’s chest in perfect position to hear his heartbeat—already a fourth sense grounded on Lestrade, possibly only polite society’s manners keeping him from seeking the fifth and giving Lestrade a lick. He was also in perfect position to glower at Sherlock with the sleepy-eyed gaze of a lion that someone dull would imagine was the boy’s spirit animal. (No, he was far too clever for so obvious a creature.) 

Years of association and the abiding trust they had in each other were the only thing that kept Lestrade from throwing the two men out of his office this instant, especially when John began tallying symptoms. Sherlock may deliberately withhold relevant pieces of information—which he would certainly do now because Abernathy was preparing to finish his conversation and Sherlock didn’t want to take the risk that perhaps he might hear something—but he never lied to Lestrade. (At least, not anymore.) Which meant that Lestrade looked back and forth between the two men, ran a gentle hand through the hapless fluff of his son’s hair, and asked what was going on.

“We have to go.”

“Then you better explain quickly.”

“Greg... he’s coming online.” They were precisely the same words Sherlock would have chosen—perhaps minus the proper noun—but the tone made all the difference in the world. Lestrade was not entirely incapable of leaps in logic, and while he preferred Sherlock to explain his deductions, that was more a matter of needing to offer an explanation in the paperwork than any real doubt. He pressed a kiss to his son’s temple and leapt past the useless discussion about was Sherlock sure? And why did they need to hurry away? Undoubtedly there would be a swath of questions later that Sherlock fully intended to foist off onto John and Mycroft, but at this moment Lestrade slipped his son back to his feet and pulled his sidearm out of the locked drawer on his desk. 

Sherlock strode for the door and paused just before he opened it. “You should give that to John and carry the boy.”

“You really shouldn’t be testing my patience right now, Sherlock.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the useless display of pride, but went storming across the bullpen nevertheless. Lestrade and Lee followed in the wake always generated by the billowing Sherlock’s coat, with John and his seemingly harmless woolly jumper right behind. Half of the floor was watching Lestrade go by thanks to the gossip about a boy climbing into the supposedly childless and recently divorced Lestrade’s lap, but Sherlock’s glower and John’s smile with too many teeth were enough to drive most of them back. 

Donovan, however, attempted to force her way past Sherlock with grumbled, “Freak.” But before she could reach Lestrade he snapped at her that he was off for the day. “But, Sir—”

“Go home, Sally!” 

That the boy didn’t turn around and snap at the self-serving irritation coming off of Donovan concerned Sherlock more than the way he sank further against Lestrade’s side with each and every step. Otherwise Sherlock might have taken some pleasure in the way the whole room recoiled at a flare of temper from the notoriously even-tempered Lestrade. 

Until his dying day Sherlock would blame his concern for the boy as the reason he didn’t notice Abernathy slithering his way across the room until the man stepped between him and lift. Sherlock had something scathing ready to snap while he elbowed his way past the inspector, but apparently that wasn’t good enough for Lestrade. He didn’t pause his stride, going to step straight around Abernathy, who stepped into Lestrade’s path like a stubborn child. Lestrade side-stepped him again, hefting his son up into his arms rather than forcing him to dance around once again. “I’m not in the mood for your shit today. You can be an ass again tomorrow.”

Half a dozen people gasped. Abernathy held up his hands as though he wasn't deliberately trying to irritate Lestrade. “I'm just looking out for you, Lestrade. You don't know what the freak has gotten you involved in this time.” 

“Sherlock didn't do a damn thing. He was just in my office at the wrong time.”

“That boy—”

“Is my son and he's sick, Abernathy. Get the fuck out of my way.”

There was more gasping, and Abernathy didn't bother pretending like he was doing this for Greg’s own good anymore. “I don't know what game you’re playing, Greg, but he doesn't smell like yours.”

“I don't give a fuck about what he smells like Pete. Now move it.”

Whatever else Abernathy might have said was nothing for the might of John Watson in a snit. As Sherlock had learned when he got to annoying—and Lestrade had witnessed when John had handled a bigot at a pub—John was a whirling dervish when he got into the mood. Guide or not, John had Abernathy on the ground and gushing blood from his nose in a matter of three moves, and Lestrade simply stepped over the battered body and onto the lift. 

And if while they were on the lift, John moved into the camera’s blind spot behind Lestrade and took his gun, Lestrade didn’t complain this time. Nor did either man say a word at Sherlock’s frantic texting to Lycius to get him to the main floor of the car park. They needed to get out of the building sooner rather than later.

Unfortunately, the thirty seconds it took for Lycius to get down from the third floor to the first meant Lestrade had time to turn to Sherlock and demand to know what in the hell was going on.

“I told you—”

“My boy coming online doesn't explain Abernathy losing his damn mind up there! It doesn’t explain why he’s curled up in my arms like he hasn’t done in front of people since he was a baby! It doesn’t explain any of this, Sherlock!”

Lee gave a pathetic writhe in Lestrade’s arms, trying to respond to the frantic uptick in his father’s heartbeat. All too soon his senses were overwhelmed by the foul smell of the car park, which was flooded with the half-burnt smell of a thousand car engines, dripping oil, huffs of gasoline, and exhausted, sweaty bodies, as well as more than a few traces of cum. Lee started to gag. John counterintuitively turned the boy so his face was pressed into the crook of Lestrade’s armpit. Lestrade juggled the boy’s weight, buying Sherlock precious moments as the inspector settled the boy as comfortably as possible and fussed to be sure he could still breathe.

Lycius careened in behind them and John wasted not one moment to fling open the door and climb inside the Sentinel-friendly vehicle with his arms outstretched to take the boy so Lestrade could follow without banging either one of them into the car’s frame.

But Lestrade, in a stubborn and ill-timed fit of nerves, stayed right where he was. “Sherlock.”

Sherlock didn’t bother sheathing his words. “This child is in the first throws of coming online. Without a secure location he will break out in hives, he will vomit, his eardrums will rupture, he will seize, and soon after he will develop a brain bleed from the overstimulation.”

“That only happens in horror stories.” With each sentence Sherlock stepped forward, pushing Lestrade back against the car. 

“Your son is a Prime. A Prime who came into his gifts and his first act was to climb on a commuter line train when the thought of such transportation that makes most wholly-developed Sentinels sob, and he came for you. He was beset with senses that would have made the journey pure torture, and all he wanted was to come to you. It is a testament to his will and his strength that he survived at all, and a sign of his cleverness that he did it without getting caught. Now, it is your turn to reward those qualities by getting him to safety. I will not let you reward him be standing here like a lump until the authorities come and remove all chance he has at making a life of his own. Now Greg, get in the car.”

He got in the car.


	2. Chapter 2

Greg didn’t bother asking why Mycroft’s car was waiting for them in the Met’s supposedly secure car park. Neither did he ask why they were picked up by Mycroft’s chief driver/obvious bodyguard, nor why the man didn’t ask a single question about what in the hell was going on in his care before he slipped out of the lot and managed to hit every light green and avoid any trace of traffic in central London. These were all questions that Greg had asked at one point or another in flagrant defiance of common sense—and Lycius, the driver, seemed to particularly enjoy smiling blandly at Greg any time he asked which branch of the service he’d been in—but tonight Greg didn’t give a damn.

Lee was all but seizing in the twenty seconds it took Greg to hand over his son to John, climb in the car, and get his boy back in his arms. John had pulled out so heavy a dose of his Guide voice that Greg hadn’t so much sat down as his knees gave out underneath him. (He would’ve had his boy back quite a bit quicker if he hadn’t been trying to remember how all his limbs worked in the face of that voice.) If John hadn’t been a powerful Guide Lee probably would’ve tackled both him and Greg right back out of the car—provided that Lycius didn’t engage what Greg was positive were something more than child lock. Greg ignored being sealed in the back of a car, ignored the temper tantrum he’d just thrown in front of his subordinates, ignored that an adult Guide had just tried to influence his kid without his permission, and ignored that what he was doing was going against every ounce of police training he’d been given on protocol for emerging Guides. 

Instead, he pulled Lee into his arms and tucked up his legs like he could wrap himself in a ball around the boy and protect him from whatever in the hell had Lycius flouting traffic laws. Lee burrowed his face into the awkward underside of Greg’s chin, pressing the button of his nose into the pulse point and following when Greg lifted his chin to make a bit more room. Then Lee whimpered, trying to keep his head down against Greg’s pec while straining up to get his nose back into the hollow of his jaw. 

“He wants your scent and your heartbeat.” With steady and gentle hands John moved Greg into the perfect position, tilting down his head, raising his arm, and somehow peeling away the breast of Greg’s jacket without disturbing Lee as he stilled against Greg’s chest. 

Sherlock ignored the maneuvering going on beside him, instead twisting around and calling out clear to the left while Lycius immediately switched lanes. The detective part of Greg logged that Lycius and Sherlock had worked together only once before, and even then only for the minute it took them to realize that Mycroft hadn’t been abducted off the street while Lycius was pulling up, he’d just been waylaid by Mrs. Hudson on his way out the door. The dad part of Greg took that terrifying piece of information and started to panic. 

He knew the required basics about Sentinels to keep them steady until the Centre arrived, but he’d never had any Gifted in his unit, and hadn’t bothered researching once Sherlock and Mycroft made it clear the basics didn’t apply to either of them. Greg was cursing himself for that now because it meant his son could be literally fucking dying in his arms and he wouldn’t have a clue until his baby boy stopped breathing. “What else?” he demanded of John.

Lee moaned, and John’s hand went to Greg’s hair, a soothing stroke while he murmured at both Lestrades in his Guide voice. “You have to stay calm, Greg. He’s grounding on you and if you keep panicking he’s going to loose control. Just keep breathing, let your heartbeat come down, and everything will be fine. We’ll get him someplace safe, and I’ll check him over, and he’ll be just fine.”

“Were are we going?” Greg asked, trying to keep the desperate demand out of his words.

John looked to Sherlock, while Sherlock and Lycius exchanged a glance in the car’s rear view mirror. “Lycius?” Greg asked again, only to be met with more silence. “Lycius, John says I can’t start yelling at you right now, so could you bloody please—”

“Mr. Holmes’s house.”

That was obviously news to John, and Sherlock got those pinched lips that meant he’d suspected something but hasn’t known for sure, and now felt like a right tit for not guessing. Greg, however, closed his eyes and pulled his boy tighter against his chest. He didn’t give a shit about Sherlock’s pride or John’s ethical quandaries. The tension started to leach out of his body because as far as he was concerned there was no one better on the planet to keep his boy safe. 

Mycroft Holmes was the kind of Sentinel people talked about in hushed whispers like they thought lowering their voices would be enough to protect them from the man’s gifts. Greg had spent his adult life working for the government, so he’d never minded much about the lack of privacy that came from spending too much time around Holmeses. He’d stopped minding at all after he stepped outside his flat after a bout of the angry and heartbreaking sex he and his wife had been having at the end of their marriage, only to find Mycroft waiting for him down the street, sipping at tea and doing his best to pretend like he hadn’t heard a damn thing. It was difficult to care that Mycroft eavesdropped on things after he’d been an auditory witness to one of the worst moments of Greg’s life and still supported him through it. 

No, Greg only cared that Mycroft was a Sentinel because it meant that the car they were in was the best secret government agencies could create, and his boy was on his way to house that could probably survive a nuclear apocalypse. Mycroft had snatched Greg off the street enough times that the inspector was familiar with Mycroft’s whole fleet of vehicles and staff, and this was Mycroft’s personal car and driver. It was the car he pulled out when he wanted complete privacy and wasn’t in the mood to deal with any of the bleed off that he always got, even in supposedly secure locations. (And the driver, well Greg may or may not have seen Lycius snap a man’s neck without bothering to take both hands off the wheel, but Greg was supposed to have been unconscious in the back seat at that particular moment, so they all pretended he didn’t know anything that should’ve gotten him disappeared.) 

So the inspector let Sherlock call out warnings and lane changes to Lycius, while John muttered things under his breath like Greg was too daft to actually hear the undercurrent of uncertainty in Sherlock’s voice or the frustration in John’s. They knew Mycroft’s house was probably the safest place in London, but neither one of them knew if that safety was going to come with a Centre representative lurking behind the door. Had it been any other driver Greg was almost positive that Sherlock would’ve tried to bully them into taking them all back to Baker Street. If that didn’t work John would’ve either voiced or punched the man into turning over the car. The detective and doctor were so damn convinced that Mycroft was an only sometimes necessary evil, but still an evil nonetheless. 

But Greg knew better. He knew what Mycroft looked like when he was sitting in the hospital waiting to hear if his brother was going to survive the latest OD, and he knew what the man sounded like when he got word that Sherlock had gone after Moriarty alone, and he knew what it felt like to have the man’s blood underneath his hands after an assassination attempt. And worse still, he knew what a perfect lie tasted like when Mycroft told him precisely what to say to keep Sherlock from finding out about that wound. 

Whatever the boys might have been too certain in themselves to see, Greg wasn’t. So John’s hissed worries and Sherlock’s terse deductions and Lycius’s snapped denials didn’t mean a damn thing to him. Greg trusted Mycroft with his boy.

Lycius brought the car to a fluid stop in Mycroft’s garage and slipped around the car to pluck Lee out of Greg’s arms before Sherlock or John could get there. Lee nearly flailed himself down to the concrete at the shift. Sherlock snapped something crass, John nearly climbed over Greg to get to Lee, and Lycius’s voice cut through the chaos like a bullet through flesh. “Stop it.” All four of them dropped like their strings were cut. Lycius took the moment peace to cradle his calloused palm around Lee’s cheek while the boy stared up at him with wide eyes that were more conscious than they’d been since he’d gotten himself into Lestrade’s embrace. 

“If you stay calm I’ll have you back in his arms in 42 seconds.”

“But—” Lee croaked, and for the next 42 seconds precisely Lycius carried him into the house and over to the guest bedrooms, explaining about muscle strain and emotional fatigue, and other things all amounting to Lestrade being too old and out of shape to carry his son around anymore. Lestrade might have been offended, but he needed John under his arm to help haul him up the stairs and into the softest bed he’d ever occupied in his life.

“Shirt off, Inspector.”

Greg started complying with Lycius’s order before he’d spared it a thought. And even after that realization he kept going, though it wasn’t much progress with shaky hands. John finally got himself back in order and started to help, while Sherlock just stood in the doorway and stared at Lycius like the man had broken out into song. There was no way Sherlock hadn’t known the man was a Guide—after all, Mycroft always kept one in spitting distance of him, and there were very few places Mycroft went that Lycius wasn’t. That meant Sherlock hadn’t know that Lycius was apparently powerful enough to put both him and John on their asses, which now that Greg thought about it, was actually pretty impressive since both John and Sherlock were powerful enough for the Yard to gossip about. 

None of that mattered at the moment since the second Greg’s undershirt cleared his fingers Lycius pressed him back to the sheets and settled Lee against his chest, somehow managing to maneuver the both of them into something comfortable before he pulled up the covers. “He needs a rest to get his senses back into alignment, sir, and he’s using you as his base. Take a nap and by the time he gets everything as sorted as he can on his own, Mr. Holmes will be home to help.”

A nap was the best idea Greg had ever heard in his life. The moment his head hit the pillow it was like all the energy had drained out of him. Already Lee was letting out the little snuffling snores that meant he was truly asleep and not just faking so he could pull out a book the moment Lestrade left the room. Greg nearly dropped to sleep just as quickly, but he forced his eyes back open and asked why he was so tired.

Sherlock nearly snapped something, probably about Lycius, but John shut him up before he could rile Greg or wake Lee. “You’re Ungifted, Lestreade. Lee is pulling on you like you’re his Guide.”

Greg lurched up, “Am I hurting him?”

“No, no.” John pushed him back down. “You’re giving him everything you’ve got, Greg. That’s why you’re tired. A Guide has their own regenerating well of energy to pull from to help a Sentinel, and while you’ve got a well, it’s not regenerating fast enough because you’re not a Guide.”

“But—” 

“He’s strong, sir.” Lycius interrupted. “You’d last a long longer if he was pulling less or he was weaker, but he’s a powerful Sentinel. You’d feel just the same if you were a low-level Guide.”

“Promise?”

“I swear to you, sir.” 

Greg let himself sink back into the mattress with a sigh, then started himself back awake. “You’ll go and get Croft? You can’t leave him alone.”

Lycius gave Greg a soft smile that ought not have been possible on so large a man. “My orders are to stay here with you. Anthea is with Mr. Holmes and she’ll see him home safely.” 

“But Abernathy was going after Lee because he’s a Sentinel, and Croft—”

“Will be fine, sir. I promise. Mr. Holmes has ordered, and we agree, that it’s more important that you and young Mr. Lestrade be protected from Inspector Abernathy and others of his ilk. Mr. Holmes is adequately guarded, but I’ll be staying here with you while Mr. Holmes and Anthea handle what work cannot be postponed.”

Greg’s eyes closed of their own accord. “They want my boy. I won’t let them take him.”

Greg didn’t see it, but Lycius’s face settled into something so fierce John put himself between the man and Sherlock. “I give you my vow, Sir. I’ll kill them first.”

Certain that both Lestrades were asleep, Lycius waived the detective and the doctor out of the panic room masquerading as a guest bedroom. However neither man moved, and there was a real possibility that all three of them would have stood there starting at one another until Mycroft returned home if John hadn’t caved first. Standing often rapidly descended into deducing when dealing with Sherlock, and he didn’t want his patients to wake up to the sound of Lycius and Sherlock trying to kill one another. With a sigh, John stepped from the room and Lycius had the grace to follow him, leaving Sherlock the pride of being the last one out. Lycius undercut that almost immediately by tapping out a code on his phone and engaging the panic room. “Don’t worry doctor, it still opens from the inside even without the code.”

“That was beyond your capability.” 

Lycius rolled his eyes at Sherlock jumping straight to his own curiosity rather than the real problem at hand. “Let us safely assume that you don’t know the limits of my capabilities.”

“Mycroft wouldn’t employ someone with the capacity to stop him against his will.” 

The driver turned on his heel and headed towards the main body of house, with Sherlock hard on his tail. As he followed, John tried to keep his attention on the argument and not on getting distracted by the surprising hominess of Mycroft’s house. 

“What makes you think I could stop Mr. Holmes?” Lycius asked over his shoulder.

“Because I’m a stronger Sentinel than Mycroft.”

Honestly, John didn’t know if he’d expected something sleek and modern or wood-paneled and Victorian, but the warm greens and deep blues, with comfortable chairs all over the place really wasn’t it. Lycius’s laugh pulled back John’s attention. “No you’re not.”

“Yes I am!” 

This time John was the one who rolled his eyes while Lycius continued. “Having seen both of you in action I can confidently say that you are not the stronger Sentinel Holmes. Your senses might be exquisite, but senses alone are not the only indicator of strength.” 

“Just because Mycroft wastes himself away in an office—” Lycius twisted on his heel and stopped himself a hair’s breadth before he infringed on Sherlock’s space. John had to admire the restraint.

“You don’t know a damn thing about Mr. Holmes, detective.”

Of course, Sherlock stepped right over the invisible boundary between them. “Don’t confuse me with the rest of you sycophants. I know Mycroft better than anyone in the world ever could, no matter how much time you spend ferrying him to and from mindless meetings as though that makes you his equal.”

“Gentlemen.” Their argument was cut clean through by a man at the end of the hall looked like he and his three-piece suit had just stepped out a period drama and was ready to cane them all for using such language in his house. Judging by the way both Lycius and Sherlock flinched, they might let him. “I have assembled the staff in the dining room for an update on the situation. Ms. Brim has informed me that she is only willing to part from her kitchen for five minutes and I believe we are all aware that she means it.” 

Lycius gave Sherlock one last glower before he headed down the hall, though he picked up the pace when the man gave him the most displeased eyebrow John had ever seen, which was impressive considering he managed to scold with barely more than a twitch. Lycius left them in the man’s care, and Sherlock, stubborn ass that he was, waited until Lycius turned the corner to actually start walking.

The man was wholly unimpressed by Sherlock’s defiance and turned his attention to John. “Doctor Watson, it is a pleasure to meet you in person. Mr. Holmes speaks highly of you.”

“I doubt that,” John smiled, trying to lessen the tension that still hung in the room like humidity. 

“Why? Have you been less than a true companion to young Mr. Holmes?”

“No, sir.” John sputtered.

“Then you believe Mr. Holmes incapable of having anything kind to say about his brother’s Guide?”

“No, sir.” The man didn’t break his stride, but somehow managed to give John the same displeased eyebrow he’d given to Lycius. John held up just as well underneath it. “It was a joke, sir.”

“Hmm.” So much scolding in one little sound.

“What were your instructions, Basil?” Sherlock snapped, already back on his game.

“As with every time you have asked before, I decline to discuss security protocols with you, Mr. Holmes.”

“I’m not asking for the codes to the weapons locker, Basil, I’m asking to know what your instructions were! Are you sending all non-essential staff home, are the lot of you supposed to be in your rooms, or is it business as normal?”

“Did you know that the last maid you managed to charm into spilling house secrets has been let go? And the maid who recommended her has been as well?” 

“That seems a bit harsh,” John said. 

“No indeed, Dr. Watson. If they are going to be charmed by young Mr. Holmes after they have been explicitly warned not to be, then they cannot be trusted when dealing with people who have far more nefarious intentions.”

“And the woman who recommended her?”

“He apparently cannot be relied upon to know who is trustworthy.”

“And the person who recommended him?” John asked, just to be difficult.

Basil glanced over his shoulder. “He assumed that one of his staff would not be distracted from a woman’s personality by her genitals.” 

Sherlock just snorted at so delicate a way to call a man pussy blind. “All our lives were easier before Mycroft moved into this ridiculous place. He didn’t need staff in his flat.”

“A man reaches a point where he wishes to live in a home of his own.”

“Then he should’ve retired and moved into the country house Uncle Rudy left him.”

“The former Mr. Holmes left the current Mr. Holmes this house as well, you know.”

“Did he leave you anything?” John asked.

“No.” Sherlock snapped, shoulders going stiff.

“The former Mr. Holmes left young Mr. Holmes a substantial trust of which the current Mr. Holmes is executor.”

“Well that seems a bit…”

“The young Mr. Holmes was rather devoted to heroin at the time the former Mr. Holmes died. He sought to provide for his nephew while not actively contributing to his attempts to kill himself. However, the former Mr. Holmes did stipulate that the longer the young Mr. Holmes is clean from all substances, the more of his trust he has access to, with or without the current Mr. Holmes’s permission. Which is rather a good thing considering we all know that Mr. Holmes would’ve given you access to every last penny if he could’ve managed it. As it is, he spent a considerable portion of his own fortune in getting the young Mr. Holmes clean and protecting him from the consequences of his own decisions.” The man stopped before a closed set of double doors and turned back to give Sherlock a look that could have frozen the blood in his veins. “Did he not?” 

John was stunned to see that Sherlock actually looked the tiniest bit chastened. “Yes, Basil.”

It wasn’t until they were sitting in the dining room surrounded by Mycroft’s small-numbered staff, listening to everyone declare that they’d like to stay on duty to help the good inspector that John realized that Basil had managed to distract Sherlock from his question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who've read my longfic in other fandoms know I have a think about sharing who have mentally casted for certain roles. So:
> 
> Lycius - Jason O'Mara  
> Basil - Liam Cunningham


	3. Chapter 3

Though it made him as if was betraying his responsibility as a brother, there was a substantial part of Mycroft that had hoped Sherlock and John would have taken their leave in the time it took him to finish his meeting with the Parliamentary subcommittee. He had a confrontation to prepare for, and concentration was always much easier without Sherlock there to complain. On balance it was better to endure Sherlock’s ramblings in one sitting than suffer through the weeks of offense that came from telling him to go away, but this was not an ordinary day.

Since Gregory and Leander had last been seen in the presence of Sherlock, there had been no point in Mycroft feigning uninvolvement in their disappearance. Representatives from the Centre would undoubtedly be turning up Mycroft’s door as soon as they discovered their spines—a feat which would take longer after they checked Baker Street and accepted they would, in fact, have to confront Mycroft Holmes. 

While Mycroft could safely assume that they would not rally their courage until at least tomorrow morning, there was always an irritating level of variability when fear and pride were involved. It was a simply matter of calculating the power of an prepubescent burgeoning alpha, adding his French nationality—if they had the sense to track Leander from Gregory’s office—and multiplying the strategic advantage of being able to claim and train an alpha found in the United Kingdom at his most—without a guardian in his presence and under the age of consent meant arguing before the Conseil Internationale de Sentinelle/Guide that neither France nor Leander’s guardian could be trusted with his care and training since they had both been unaware of his burgeoning senses. In short, their arrival time depended on how much their pride in stealing such an Alpha outweighed their fear of Mycroft. 

Under normal circumstances, fears of him were something Mycroft could accurately predict down to the minute, but undeserved pride was such a tricky thing to calculate. 

“What are you doing, Mycroft?” 

Speak of a complication and it shall appear. There was his darling brother, lurking for him inside the garage and lacing Mycroft’s very name with all the not inconsiderable disdain he could summon. 

“Currently I am walking towards the lift.”

“Too lazy to take your own stairs?”

“As always, brother, your commentary on my weight is so delightfully inventive.” And as always, Anthea’s expression was perfect in its impassivity, though she did abandon him to be trapped in a confined space with Sherlock. 

“I would not waste my time divising something inventive for your pathetically repetitive person.” 

“One would imagine that with your supposedly towering intellect proper mockery would not require much time.”

Sherlock jabbed at the lift’s emergency stop button, determined to interrogate Mycroft while he could. He jabbed at the button again and again when it didn’t respond. “Before he would consent to actually using any lift that I might install, Basil insisted on certain precautions.” Sherlock didn’t bother asking who those precautions were against. He liked to imagine they had more to do with foreign agents trapping the maids until they spilled information, but he was quite certain that the precautions were meant more against him than anyone else. 

John was waiting for them outside the lift doors and he apologized for letting Sherlock pounce on him before he made it properly in the house. 

“I appreciate the sentiment, doctor. Though considering my brother is a grown man no one should expect you to police his behavior.”

“We both know that’s never going to be true. What’s going on, Mycroft?”

“At the moment? Nothing.”

“Mycroft—” Sherlock hissed like an angry cat.

Mycroft shrugged his coat and umbrella into Basil’s waiting hands and refused to be baited. “You know precisely what is going on. Inspector Lestrade’s stepson is unexpectedly coming online, and in his fragile and upheaving state he came to the inspector. Whether he did so for the emotional reason that the inspector is his father figure, or the faulty strategic assumption that a man who worked for Scotland Yard would be able to protect him, or simply because he craved some sense of stability and the inspector has a deeply soothing psionic profile, we cannot know without asking the child. Both were removed from the Yard before the Centre could seize control and bungle his emergence, and now they are recuperating in my guest room.”

“What is the Centre going to do?”

It was probably a bit early in the evening, but Mycroft accepted his nightly scotch from Basil with the kindness it was intended. “Don’t ask questions you know the answer to, Sherlock.” 

“Answer it for me.” John demanded. 

Mycroft did not sigh. John hated it when he sighed and Mycroft was not in the mood to deal with Sherlock’s temper when it was undoubtedly already stressed from Lestrade’s situation, and from denying to himself that he was concerned about Lestrade’s situation. 

“Presumably you are both well aware that Sentinel-Inspector Abernathy holds a quite high level rankings and is on the short list for the Council when a space next becomes available. In fact, if Scotland Yard were to acknowledge things such as pack hierarchy, he is one of three who might claim the role of NSY Alpha.”

“Why only three?” John asked, accepting a beer that Gregory was rather fond of. “The whole building is full of Sentinels.”

“Lestrade,” Sherlock answered. Basil didn’t bother to offer him anything to drink, though he did set down a bottle of water and a whole-grain muffin, as though Sherlock would accept the healthy refueling. 

“Greg’s not a Sentinel. He’s not even on the charts for being Gifted.” John objected.

“Precisely. Abernathy is the strongest Sentinel in the London police, but pack hierarchies that form around institutions rather than locations require all the standard Alpha criteria—strength, charisma, senses—but they also take into account ability to perform within the institution itself. For example, Mycroft would easily become the Alpha of the Diogenes Club, but no one would consider him for the same role at his gym.” Mycroft just raised his glass in agreement. “Abernathy and Lestrade perform the same job, but Lestrade is better at it. He might still be considered Alpha, but his claim to the role is significantly weakened by his inability to outperform the Ungifted.”

“Is that why the Yard doesn’t have an unofficial Alpha? All of my units in the army had one, and I just thought the Centre was being strict about no packs turning up on their watch. Well, and him swanning about the building and doing their jobs for them certainly couldn’t have helped matters.” John gave a nod at Sherlock, who was devoutly ignoring his healthy treats. 

“Sherlock is undoubtedly an exacerbating factor. However, Abernathy still remains unable to claim any sort of primacy at the Yard, and that has affected his ability to move up in the official Sentinel hierarchy.”

“So he ratted Greg out to the Centre because he’s bitter about being shit at his job?”

“I imagine he would be less bitter if he was actually terrible at his job. He is, in fact, rather good.” Sherlock snorted. “Good being a matter of comparison, of course. In this case, his desire to prove himself valuable to the Council undoubtedly will not work in our favor, and did not today. As you know, there is only so much one can derive from security footage, and Abernathy’s first hand account of your behavior today, as well as what he felt from the child means that we cannot successfully convince the Centre that Leander is anything less that what he is.” 

“A Prime.”

“More dangerous still, Dr. Watson. If we were to use archaic language to explain him, Leander would be a burgeoning Wild Prime. He will not be Prime through the traditional means because he has the connections and strength for a particular territory. Instead, he will become one of those rare Primes who shall be Alpha wherever he goes, no matter whom he might confront. He will be Prime in the oldest sense of the word.”

“England has never had one of those.”

“Not since before the Roman occupation. Italy had the last confirmed one in the 1500s when the Medicis pilfered him from Prussia. There are indications that there was a girl born in Poland in the ‘40s, but she was too old for the Nazis to sway, and so they did as they do. Leander is in that rare, unformed stage where he has no territory to claim his loyalty, as constrained the Prime in Poland, he has no pack to protect as the Medicis exploited and showered with gifts, and he has not even the most basic training to rely upon to make an informed decision. Leander is, in embryo, the power to upend the entire Sentinel system of Europe, and with Abernathy’s testimony we have lost the ability to conceal him.”

It was, indeed, all information Sherlock had known. While Mycroft had been diligent in learning everything so he might best serve their people, Sherlock had been rather more concerned with learning only that which might keep him from responsibility. Which meant in this rare case he was willing to concede to his brother’s superior knowledge about the world and the Centre’s position. “The American Prime?”

“Despite rumors to the contrary, he is not Wild. Though unlike many I have come across he is certainly deserving of the title Prime.”

“You’ve met him?” John demanded, the soldier in him just as fascinated as the Guide.

Mycroft took a slow slip of his alcohol. “There was an extradition matter that I was asked to resolve.”

Myrcoft had never once mentioned meeting the world’s supposedly most powerful Sentinel, though given the relationship between America and Great Britain it was only logical that they had. Sherlock could imagine how intensely uncomfortable the meeting between the two must have been. Mycroft was potentially the least stereotypical Sentinel Sherlock had ever heard tell of. Most Sentinels loathed desk jobs, while Mycroft couldn’t stand fieldwork; Sentinels preferred relying on their senses, Mycroft preferred his mind; and even on his most languorous days there was a part of Sherlock that itched with vicious fury to protect his city. However the burning but banked fire that dwelt in other Sentinel’s souls was a winter’s frost in Mycroft. Oh, he lost his temper just like the rest of them—Sherlock knew that better than anyone—but when he went feral, he was more likely to orchestrate your execution for four months down the road that he was to get himself sweaty in a fight. Alpha Prime James Ellison, the perfect picture of what a Sentinel ought to be, and Mycroft Holmes, who the first time any Sentinel met him they double checked to be sure that they hadn’t lost their mind. The mental image almost made Sherlock giggle. 

Mycroft rolled his eyes because he knew precisely what his brother was envisioning: the two of them squared off across some Centre conference table and trying not to twitch. “More importantly, if the worst should happen and the world should metaphorically fall around our ears, Alpha Prime Ellison can be trusted to offer safe haven.”

That cut straight through John’s urge to ask to ask for details. “Will it come to that, do you think?”

“It is unlikely, but Sentinels can rarely be relied upon to behave rationally when it comes to Primes. I imagine they will make several idiotic decisions over the next several days before they come to the correct conclusion.”

“And what’s the correct conclusion?”

“That will depend entirely upon what Leander and his parents desire, don’t you believe? Perhaps he will remain here in London and undertake his training with our Centre. Perhaps he will return to Paris in the home he has lived in for his entire life and train there. When word leaks from the London Centre, as it inevitably will, he will have offers to train the entire world over. Gregory tells me that the boy has always enjoyed Japanese cartoons, so it is just as likely that he might wish to train there. Predicting the choices of prepubescent boys has never been my strong suit.”

“But you think the London Centre will let him go?”

“If you intend to flee with the Lestrades I would have a light bag prepared just in case, but yes, I believe the London Centre will let Leander do precisely as he desires.”

“Because you will ensure it.” Sherlock chimed in. 

“To the best of my ability.” 

The Holmes boys stared at one another across Mycroft’s reception room, the space between them simultaneously an insurmountable chasm and closer together than they had been in years. There was something so morally depraved about snatching a boy away from his home against his will that not even Mycroft would do it without profound justification. Of course, it would not be beyond him to convince both that boy and the Paris Centre that Leander’s coming to Lestrade meant he ought to remain in London, all under the guise of giving him precisely what he wanted. 

But there was… something else. Not unlike the oncoming, surprisingly literal, storm that had brought Sherlock to his brother’s home this evening, there was something odd here that Sherlock could not quite name. It was as though his first inclination was not that Mycroft would manipulate things to his advantage, but that perhaps Mycroft might actually behave in the boy’s best interests. Of course would be in Mycroft’s best long term best interests to be in the good graces of the little Prime, but still, that Sherlock was considering that Mycroft was considering at all was a departure from their norm. 

It was so uncomfortable a departure that Sherlock swept out of the room with a petty huff. In the pre-John era Sherlock would’ve flounced out of the house, but John would refuse to leave his patients in such a state, no matter how competent Mycroft’s help might be. He didn’t care about potentially being a weak point for Mycroft in the oncoming negotiations—he never had—but being without John meant that Sherlock would simply retreat to the house’s library and pout his way through several scientific texts that Basil had undoubtedly pulled off the shelves in preparation. 

John rolled his eyes but followed Sherlock, Basil promising to bring him dinner to one of the small library tables whenever he was ready. John accepted with a gracious thank you, and he apologized for Sherlock undoubtedly wasting the dinner to come. Mycroft idly sipped on his scotch while he went to his office, tracking John’s footsteps through the house as he followed Basil to the library. 

While every room in his house was lined with enough soundproofing that Mycroft’s sleep wasn’t interrupted by Cook rising early to bake bread or Lycius calling out from his nightmares, Mycroft had only invested in nigh-impenetrable soundproofing in a few rooms, and his comfortably large office was one of them. This meant that the moment Mycroft edged open the door, both Lycius and Anthea stopped speaking until the door was closed behind him. Mycroft didn’t bother pointing out that such subterfuge was useless when it came to Sherlock. His subordinates took comfort from the false belief that they might be able to keep something from his brother and it was easier for them all to keep living the lie. 

“Both the Inspector Lestrade and his child are recovering nicely. I believe we should wake them inside the hour to keep from interfering with their sleep tonight.” Lycius explained. “I believe the inspector will require a thorough explanation for today’s events sooner rather than later. I don’t think he would’ve come without an explanation at all if Leander hadn’t been taking so much energy.”

Anthea added her own report. “Leander’s mother is still unaware of his absence. According to her texts she believes he is sleeping over at a friend’s house and she has yet to call anyone to verify. Also, the Centre has been efficient in containing the story of his emergence. France, Switzerland, Germany, Canada, and the United States are aware that London had a young Sentinel in the throws of emergence today, but their knowledge stems from inter-Centre gossip and not from anything damaging.”

“That is surprising. And while it is a relief that this might be settled before it becomes a matter of international concern, Alpha Lowry’s ability to keep a lid on anything is disconcerting.” Despite the temptation, Mycroft did not pour himself another glass before he settled behind his desk. The current level of upheaval in his home was no excuse to get sloppy.

“Concurred. All of our backdoors into the Centre’s digital security are on the lookout for anyone spilling secrets. If Sentinel Abernathy was not in play I would presume that the Centre was entirely unaware of Leander’s unique potential.”

“Since we can be certain they are not, investigate the individuals Abernathy contacted on his way to the Centre, and what calls went in and out of the Centre in the few minutes after Abernathy first made contact. There is a third party keeping excellent control of this situation and it is not someone usually on the Centre’s payroll.”

Anthea offered a quick, “Yes sir,” then slipped from the room, nose already buried in her phone. Mycroft could never regret poaching his assistant from MI-6, but there were occasions when he wished he had found her someplace other than Q Branch. Her efficiency was a sight to behold, but it didn’t matter how far you took the girl from the tech department, it would always be a part of her. 

However, Anthea’s penchant for focusing on her technology at the expense of eye contact was preferable to Lycius’s habit of staring right in your eyes and weighing you before he would speak his mind. There were very few people on the planet who had the gall to consider Mycroft Holmes too delicate to receive certain pieces of information, and Mycroft could admit that he did not enjoy his head of security being one of them. The man seemed to think it was his duty to protect Mycroft’s mental and emotional wellbeing as much as it was to guard his body. 

Tonight, the man stared at Mycroft, obviously weighing his frustration about the day against whatever nugget of information he had to deliver. “Given what the rest of this week is likely to bring it is in your best interest to tell me now rather than risk delaying.” Mycroft said.

“You’ll be pleased with the information, but you won’t want to risk giving anything away to Sherlock.”

“Do I have sufficient time to restore my demeanor before we need to wake the Lestrades?”

“Yes, but your knowledge will be an ongoing problem throughout the night.”

Which meant that Lycius was concerned that when Mycroft knew he would inadvertently reveal himself to Sherlock. If Mycroft could reliably expect Sherlock to leave his home anytime before the end of this struggle he would contentedly wait for the information, perhaps under other circumstances he might even wait without being able to guess when he might be able to know. On this particular night however, he could do with some good news, even good news that he would have to conceal, and he told Lycius so. 

Lycius slouched back in his chair and fixed Mycroft with a smile that made him regret his decision. “Sherlock believes you moved into your freshly remodeled home because Basil and Brim bulied you into it.” 

The man left with a smug grin and Mycroft utterly failed to keep the blush off his face. It didn’t matter how many times Mycroft denied any ulterior motives beyond middle age in his desire to move out of his flat, none of them believed him. Though, Mycroft supposed that was the problem with hiring clever staff, they were much more difficult to deceive.


	4. Chapter 4

Lee wanted to go back to bed. He had his Dad all to himself, the Sherlock from his dad’s stories seemed to know how to fix him, and this room was the first time in weeks he’d heard something that sounded like silence. 

But he couldn’t sleep, not when there was something in the house with them. 

Lee recognized Sherlock with the hectic soul and John with the steady hands, and he had tracked the steps of Lycius and his safe voice through every inch of the house as he checked in with its occupants, just in case. There was a cook fussing in the kitchen, maids touching up the other extra rooms, and what Lee was almost positive were guards outside the front door, but whatever sense-proofing they had around this room was even stronger around the house, so there was no being sure. 

Lee had heard so many stories about Sherlock—and now John as well—that he could accept their presence in his father's space and their smell on his skin. It was better than the foul stench of other men on his father's ex-wife, or the reek of rot that used to cling to his dad after he’d been to the morgue but before he’d figured out just how much he had to scrub to get rid of the smell. Hearing tales of Sherlock and John was enough to make them tolerable, and the soft tone of Lycius and the way he tried so hard to look out for Lee's father made him preferable to anyone else he'd passed in his journey to track down Lestrade. The rest of the people, they were quiet for all that they were nervous, and Lycius seemed to think they were safe, so that was enough. 

The Sentinel who'd stepped inside the house, though, Lee didn't know him. The man was like a pebble dropped into a pond. Not a rock causing a massive splash and not a cannonball off the diving board, just a ripple that you could pretend was the water flowering like it always did. It would be easy to write off the man's passing through the seals around the house as any other Sentinel… just a Sentinel who it seemed everyone in the house rotated around like he was the sun. 

Even then, there was nothing about the little ripples coming from him that should have made Lee want to hide in his father’s embrace and never leave this room. 

But Lee had not made it this far by being afraid. 

He slipped out of bed, taking care not to jostle his dad since he never did get enough sleep. Every time Lee saw him the first few days were always spent making sure he caught up on all the rest he ought to have had. (After the first sleeping in, Greg would always say he’d rather spend time with his boy than with his bed.)

Lee made his way through the series of locks on the door, turning off the seals and purifiers and shushing them all for the noise they made as they disengaged. There was another bedroom across the hall from theirs, with the same thick door and empty smell that made Lee guess it was for the same kind of guests as they were. Though, maybe less well-behaved guests since that room was smaller and didn’t look nearly as comfortable. 

Just beyond the two doors the wall jutted in a bit, and from all the spy moves that Lee wasn’t supposed to have watched, he thought that maybe another door would slide out from there and hide the two rooms. He knew that there were other rooms beyond the fake door, enough to justify the hallway when the bedrooms were hidden, but his curiosity was too piqued to investigate them. The door at the end of the hall wasn’t sealed off like the rest, and in the crack beneath it Lee could see a flickering light. He slid the door open and stepped… not into the room he’d been expecting.

It was a swimming pool. A posh swimming pool. A posh swimming pool in the basement of a house in the middle of London. “What?” He couldn’t help but ask himself. 

“The house’s prior owner was an avid swimmer.” Lycius was comfortably sprawled at the bottom of the staircase that Lee hadn’t noticed beside him, waiting for the boy to finish looking his fill at the untroubled water. 

“But not now?” 

It was obvious that if the boy could’ve, he would’ve shucked off his clothes and dove right in, too overwhelmed with a youth’s possibility to go swimming whenever he chose that he didn’t bother thinking about what the chlorine might do to his newly sensitive skin. Already he was touchy at the notion that anyone who didn’t like swimming wasn’t a person he would like himself. However, explaining the concept of body confidence and privacy wasn’t really something a child would comprehend. “He enjoys it, but he doesn’t quite have the time.”

“That’s stupid. You should always have the time to go swimming. It’s swimming.”

“Feel free to tell him so.” It didn’t do a speck of good for anyone on the payroll to try and compliment Mycroft, perhaps if Lestrade’s boy managed to bully Mycroft into some swim trunks the man might finally notice the long looks Lestrade gave his ass.

Wholly unaware of these machinations, Lee just sighed. “Does that mean I have to go upstairs now?”

“No, lad. You don’t have to do anything. If you’d like, you can go back in and wake up the Inspector. You can take off your socks and stick your feet in the water, though no swimming until we send someone to get you some trunks and teach you some basic control over touch. You could even go upstairs and have cook fuss over you in the kitchen if you’d like. I just thought that you might like to have a chat with the man in charge without your father there to listen.”

That got Lee’s attention to turn away from the water. “Is he the one I can smell?” Lycius was grateful that it had been so easy to pull the boy out of the zone he’d been slipping into as he stared at the water. Though it didn’t bode well that it was more the fierce territoriality over Lestrade that pulled him out than the Guide talking to him.

“Well, it is his house, so I’d assume so.” Lycius wasn’t wrong, the man’s scent was everywhere in the car and even here by the chemically-laced pool. But more importantly, it was on his father, and it followed his father around long before his marriage to the terrible ex-wife had ended. And Lee didn't like that at all. 

“Is he the one I can smell on my dad?” 

Lycius stilled. Though Lycius said something about not being a Sentinel and not being able to smell that kind of thing, that brief moment of silence was really all that Lee needed. It was rude, and his mum and dad would be upset, but Lee stepped past the Guide and went up the stairs, heading towards the center of the ripples. Lee was aware enough that servants scattered out of his path as he went, ducking back into rooms and around corners. Later he’d think it was weird that not a single grownup tried to stop him from stomping off to yell at their boss, but right then he was nothing but happy that he didn’t have to deal with silly adults at the moment. 

The man in question was long and lean and didn’t look intimidating at all, not like Lycius who looked like he could throw someone through a window if he wanted, or even Sherlock who seemed a bit like he wasn’t above making people hurt. This man though, he was primly sipping on a cup of tea while he scrolled down his tablet and Lee would bet all his pocket money for the month that he’d never even been in a schoolyard fight. 

Which meant that Lee didn’t understand why he felt like he was staring down a tiger. 

“Milk and sugar?” The man asked without looking up from his tablet. 

Lee tried not to gulp and forced himself to move all the way into the room. (Lycius didn’t give him a nudge, though the Guide did wink and shut the door behind him.) The home office was comfortably lit, but sparse. The massive desk and waiting chairs were the first thing you saw from the door, and off to the side was the man was in his sitting area, with an extra chair across from him and a short table with a tea tray in between. The scent of tea was always a comforting reminder of Greg and it bolstered Lee to answer. “Yes please. To both.”

The Sentinel poured a perfect cup for Lee, keeping his eyes off the boy all the while. Lee just stood there beside the chair, watching the man’s deft hands prepare a cup with an unnerving sort of grace. “Sit down please. Tea should only be consumed while roaming about a room in matters of national importance.”

“Does that happen often?”

“Not as often as your television programs make it appear.”

“Dad told you about those?” That startled Lee into looking away from the man’s hands and to his face. He had what Lee’s mother would’ve called ‘patrician features,’ which Lee was pretty sure was just a nice way of saying plain. 

“He likes to verify what may or may not be factual in them.” And that had to be for Lee, who always asked, ‘could that really happen, Dad?’ during their movie watching marathons. There was something soothing about knowing that his father’s information might have come from this man, and Lee finally shuffled into the chair opposite the Sentinel. Part of him was terrified at getting any closer to the tiger, while the other part was proud that he was being invited over to sit like a grownup. The Sentinel waited silently for Lee to shimmy up into the chair and take a sip while the tea was still hot, keeping his gaze pointedly on the tablet until Lee had gotten himself settled. 

When the Sentinel finally turned his gaze on him, Lee wished he hadn’t. He remembered the day he looked up the word ‘dissected’ after a movie he really shouldn’t have watched alone, and now he felt like he properly understood what it meant. 

The Sentinel took a long, slow sip of his tea, staring at Lee all the while, forcing the boy to lift his own cup to cover as much of his face as he could. But it seemed the Sentinel wasn’t even going to let him pretend to hide now that he’d bothered to look up. “Leander Isaac Collet, only child of Isabelle Maria Collet and a long-time business associate of her father’s, Sentinel Isaac Martin Dubois. And yes, your birth father knows of your paternity, but your grandfather does not. Although, he will piece it together soon after he discovers that you have come online.”

That wasn’t nearly as impressive as the man thought it was. “I knew that already. My birth father didn’t want us and mom didn’t want to ruin his friendship with grandpa.”

“You didn’t know it, you believed it because that’s what your mother told you. However, you should be aware that it is only partially the truth. You mother believed it was better to lie than to inform you that it is not entirely a matter of Dubois not wanting either of you so much as it is a matter that you are conclusive proof that he had an affair with a friend’s much younger child. His Guide’s father would bankrupt him for such a betrayal of his only child, your own grandfather would likely assist in this vengeance. This means that Dubois would lose his position in both France and Europe’s Sentinel hierarchy because denying your offspring is considered an unforgivable violation of Sentinel principles.”

“What principles?” Lee was too stunned to ask any of the questions he ought to have instead. 

“On the whole, Sentinels and Guides place a high value on family loyalty, whether that family be a blood relation or not. Our people are known for accepting as their own children from their partner’s prior relationships as well as from fertilization procedures. It would damage Dubois’s reputation for him to even be unaware of the existence of his child, and it would shatter it entirely were the truth to come out.”

“Why did he do it then? Why did he ignore me?”

“I can postulate based upon what he stood and still stands to lose, as well as from what I know about him as a Sentinel, but I could not say for certain. I rarely delve into matters of the heart. They are a terribly sticky business.”

“That’s not a very positive recommendation for the man who’s rubbed his smell all over my dad.” Lee snapped. The man didn’t deserve it, but Lee didn’t want to hear anything else about how apparently Sentinels were supposed to love anybody’s children, but there was something about him that his own birth father couldn’t even care about. It didn’t matter because at the end of the day that meant he’d gotten Greg, and Greg was a better dad than any sucky Sentinel ever could be, but that didn’t mean Lee wanted to hear it.

The man replied to Lee’s question, not his anger. “Where do you smell me on him?” 

“What?”

“Where on your father do you notice my scent? Different locations on the body and different depths of scent imply different forms of contact. So, where do you scent me on your father?” Lee just gaped at him, and struggled to find words for it. “Did you smell me on his clothes or on his skin?” The Sentinel asked again. 

“His clothes, but it wasn’t a fresh scent on the outside of his coat. It was all the way woven into the fabric.” 

“Was it truly that deep, or is that simply hyperbole?” Lee went to snap back but the Sentinel interrupted him. “Think for a moment. Don’t set yourself up to misjudge scents for the rest of your life simply because you wish to argue with me.” 

Lee wanted to argue. He wanted to scream and shout and throw a temper tantrum loud enough to wake up his father, but he also wanted to stay in this house behind its nice safe security and the seals that kept his senses from hurting. Instead, he closed his eyes and pulled up the memory of pressing his face into the crook between his father’s arm and his rib, breathing him in. He had zeroed in on his father’s scent and the traces of this Sentinel on him hadn’t ruffled his senses at all. Now that he was surrounded by the scent in its own house he could recognize it, but it hadn’t become a part of the coat, or a part of his father. It was there often enough that he could smell it in the fibers, but not at the core of things, and he told the Sentinel so.

“That indicates that I see Inspector Lestrade often enough that my scent is renewed so it doesn’t dissipate completely, however the lack of my scent in ‘the core of things’ as you refer to it, or on his skin, suggests that we do not see one another every day, and that any rubbing was involved was not between his skin and mine.” 

“That doesn’t mean you didn’t bring us back to your house.”

“I did indeed, because your father is my friend and as a fellow Sentinel I don’t trust your care to the Centre.”

“You work for the Centre!”

“In fact, I do not. I sit on an oversight committee between various departments of the British government, the British Sentinel and Guide Centre, and various elements in the EU. I have virtually nothing to do with the day-to-day running of the Centre.”

“But you’re on their website!” 

The Sentinel cocked an eyebrow at him while he took another sip of tea. “I impart unto you a valuable life lesson: do not trust everything you read on the Internet.”

“It was an org.” 

“Those are as easy to manipulate as anything else. Now tell me what it is you think you read about me on the Internet and I shall correct your fallacies.”

“It says: Lord Edward Mycroft Alexander Holmes. Alpha Sentinel Prime of England.” 

Holmes set the cup down with a sharp clink. “That most certainly was not on the Centre’s website. England has no Prime.”

“It wasn’t on the Centre’s website. It was on a bunch of blogs where people talk about what their experiences were like coming online, and how to get involved in the community. They all said that most people think England doesn’t have a Prime but for people in the know, really in the know, you’re the man in charge.”

Mycroft pulled out his phone and tapped a quick message. “They would be wrong.” 

“What are you doing?”

“Having my assistant find and remove these mentions, and then fire the person who was supposed to prevent their existence in the first place.”

“Why?”

“The answer to both questions is security. My work relies in large part on a certain degree of anonymity and underestimation. Simultaneously, I do not appreciate the spread of falsehoods about me.”

“They’re not stupid people, they’re going to know what a Prime feels like even if you erase it from the Internet.”

“You needed guidance to distinguish between scent traces, I doubt you have the instinctual knowledge about what a Prime is meant to feel like.” He tucked his phone back into his breast pocket and somehow managed to make it sharp despite the soft folds of his fabric.

“Don’t talk to me like that!”

“Don’t spill your tea.” 

Lee slammed cup down on the table and didn’t care that it smashed and spilled everywhere. He flung himself out of the chair and started stomping for the door to wake up his father and get away from this ass. “Words are powerful things, Leander.” 

He couldn’t help himself and twisted back around. “What’s that supposed to mean!” 

“Did you hear me deny that I rank as a Prime?” 

“Yes!”

“Did you? Or did you hear me say that the Internet gossips were wrong?”

“That means you’re denying that you’re a Prime!”

“There were several parts to your sentence, Leander. Any one of them could have been what I was describing as incorrect.” 

“You told me I was incorrect about you being a Prime.”

“No, I doubted that you currently lack the ability to delineate a Prime from any other Sentinel. Also, I implied that my title as a Prime was false.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“That in a different age of the world and were I a different man, I might be called a Prime. As the world is however, and as I am, I am not. I have the strength and skill to be, but I have no desire to roam about as a Prime, nor would our society as presently constituted recognize me as one, both because our people attempt to adhere to a Council system of leadership, and because I am not bonded. Instinctually, you can recognize a powerful Sentinel, but our society has evolved to the point where raw power lacks the weight in determining a Prime that might be attributed to charisma or good breeding.” 

“Don’t you have all of those?”

“As I am sure you have noticed, I tend to make people quite uncomfortable.”

Lee refused to admit to that. “Not my father, though.” 

“Not for quite some time, no. In truth, he is one of the very few people in the world that I would consider a friend, and so I will do everything in my power to help you through this transition. You have my word on that. Now, may I inquire as to what you consider the inciting incident that first brought you online?”

Lee didn’t like this Mycroft Holmes one bit, but he could admit that it was damn difficult to tell the man no when he asked for something. Not just because he was in Holmes’s house, but because Lee had believed every word he’d said about his father. And honestly, he was kind of excited to turn the scary man on someone else. “My Mum is getting married.” 

“And you find something about your new stepfather objectionable?”

“I don’t like him.” Mycroft took another sip of tea. “There’s nothing wrong with him,” Lee complained. “I just don’t like him.”

That wasn’t quite the whole truth, and judging by Mycroft’s eyebrow raise he knew it, but he let Lee move on. “It is not uncommon for children to come online because of changes in their family dynamic. It’s especially applicable in your circumstances because it is obvious that you regard Gregory both as your father and as the person upon whom you center your senses. Your stepfather is not only changing the structure of your family, but is challenging the place of your pseudo-Guide in your life.” 

Lee just snorted at the most stupidly complicated explanation he’d ever heard in his life. The man wanted to replace Greg, it didn’t really need all those words to make sense. 

“Of course, it certainly doesn’t help your situation that you are laboring under the false assumption that your birth father has denied you out of some deficiency on your part, creating your subliminal concern that perhaps Greg might one day do the same.” This was punishment for breaking his fancy tea cup, Lee knew it. “That is impossible, of course. Your birth father denied you because he lacks the will to handle difficult situations.”

“I’m not difficult.” Lee said petulantly.

“No more than any other willful and independent child. The difficulty was not in you as a person, but in the situation itself. Bringing any child into the world when you are in a committed relationship with another person has consequences, and as I explained, the consequences in this situation would be particularly severe. Your birth father simply lacks the spine to accept these consequences, or the intelligence to realize that he cannot run from the fallout forever. It is entirely his failing, not yours.”

Lee refused to be comforted by Mycroft’s words. The man didn’t seem like the kind to tell little boys that there was nothing wrong with them if he didn’t mean it. Really, he didn’t seem like the type to talk to children at all, so Lee was still fighting back the urge to be proud that the conversation was even happening. “I don’t like you, either.”

“You are not the first person to tell me that, and I cannot imagine that you will be the last. However, given that your father is my friend, and that you are a powerful Sentinel with no trustworthy Sentinel in your life to lead you through this process, I will most certainly be the person that your father relies on to help train you to use your gifts and protect you from the machinations of the Sentinel hierarchy.”

“He might rely on Sherlock.”

Mycroft actually snorted at that one. “No he won’t. Sherlock is worse than useless when it comes to politics or anything that might require him to stick to a schedule. I, however, can be trusted to provide you with every scrap of information you might need for training, every ounce of political support, and potential connection to establish you well for life. You might express your displeasure at me for infringing upon your father’s time, but it will be necessary.”

“You think my dad won’t pick someone else if I ask him to?” Lee tried to sound furious at the suggestion, but there was far too much doubt in his own voice for it to be genuine. 

“I believe your father would move you around the world and burn down the Centre if you truly asked him to. However, I also believe that you value your father’s happiness too much to ask him to abandon his life simply because you find me disagreeable.” Mycroft let that sink in for a moment before he continued. “On the same note, I care for your father too much to maneuver him into something that he would regret later, which he would undoubtedly do if I damaged his relationship with you.”

“I don’t believe you.” That was an out and out lie. Lee’s senses might not be good for much right now, but something in him knew that Mycroft had just handed him a powerful piece of truth. Mycroft telling the truth seemed impossible based on everything he knew and his own common sense. But he sounded so genuine that Lee couldn’t help but hope. 

“I promise you this, Leander. I will always do everything in my power to protect your father, even if it must be from me.”

“If you ever hurt him—”

“I will hurt him, Leander. That is one of the byproducts of any relationship. When you open yourself to another person, you will find yourself hurt. Whether on purpose or not, you will be hurt, and you will hurt the ones you love. I do promise you however, that I will never seek to hurt him in a way that is irreparable. And if you believe I have overstepped and hurt him to grievously, then you have my full permission to punish me for it.”

“Promise?” 

“So long as you don’t interfere with national security, my complete permission.” 

“I’m going to make you regret that.”

“Oh my dear boy, of that I have no doubt.”


	5. Chapter 5

Greg knew he was in one of Mycroft’s spare bedrooms without bothering to open his eyes. Though he’d had a few nights where Mycroft had deemed that Greg had drunk too much to be allowed out, more often Mycroft would rely on a nebulous time that he declared, “far too late for travel.” Greg had never called Mycroft on the variable definition of ‘late,’ or that the man had a fleet of cars and drivers who were sufficiently terrifying that they could probably survive a zombie apocalypse with no troubles. Greg had been too exhausted to mind on the first night, and on the second... well, Greg wasn’t the kind of man to look a gift horse in the mouth.

It wasn’t just that Mycroft had lured his personal chef, Mrs. Brim, from a Michelin-starred restaurant—the woman had been put out to pasture by her employer after she punched him for sexual assault. And it wasn’t that Basil made a supernaturally perfect cup of tea—and Greg liked to pretend that the man didn’t have all the same military ticks as Lycius. 

Honestly, it was the sheets, which Greg was positive had cost more than his entire flat. Apparently there really was something to be said for Sentinel-grade fabrics. Greg had never had a better night’s sleep in his life than the ones he had when he was wrapped up in Mycroft’s sheets.

In sheets that Mycroft owned. 

In his spare bedroom. 

Not that Greg wanted to be between Mycroft’s actual sheets or anything, because Mycroft wasn’t the sort of man to skimp on the sheets he had for his guests and reserve the best for himself. That would be impolite, and Mycroft Holmes didn’t do impolite. And Greg cut himself off right there because he was starting to mentally ramble, and there was no good place for that mental ramble to end. No matter what else, it was bad manners to rub one out thinking about the man who owned the specific set of sheets that Greg was currently occupying. 

“Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

Greg flailed himself upright, heaving out startled breaths. Basil was normally the sort to knock on doors before he went opening them and interrupting embarrassed Detective Inspectors. “Morning, Basil.” 

The butler’s eyebrow went up in that silent amusement he managed so well. “Good afternoon, Inspector.”

Greg had half a moment to wonder what in the hell he’d had to drink last night that he was still asleep the next afternoon, then the day’s events crashed over him. “Lee!” His boy was nowhere in the soft covers of the bed, and Greg went barreling out of the room, ignoring Basil’s, “Inspector—” behind him. In his worry Greg ignored the pool that had never failed to make him smile, and bounded up the stairs, past the empty sitting room and towards the kitchen. Never in his life had Greg been so comforted by the sound of his son cursing. 

“You’re making that up!” 

Greg stumbled through the wide, open doors to the kitchen, taking in Brim at her counter and the rest of their group at the small table eating supper. John was tucking in to his meal, ignoring how Sherlock halfway out of his seat so he could yell at Mycroft with his whole body, obviously over whatever had Lee pointing his finger towards Sherlock’s face. Judging by Mycroft’s smug grin, whatever had set his brother off was something that Lee seemed to agree with Mycroft about. 

Greg didn't think he'd clattered into the room quite that much, but the whole room froze when he stepped in the door. “Dad!” Lee, in the sort of logic that was only employed by children, slid off his chair and scrambled under the table—the shortest distance between two points being a straight line and all. Greg didn't have the time to scold him for no doubt squishing toes, and probably smacking Sherlock a good one in the shin if he knew his boy's temper at all, since Lee was leaping into his arms before he had a chance to breathe. “You're awake!”

“Were you thinking I wouldn't be?”

“Sherlock said we should let you sleep for seven more minutes so you could complete an entire rem cycle.” The answer came from the crook of his neck, where Lee had burrowed himself once again. 

“How does Sherlock have an opinion about sleeping when he never does it himself?”

Lee popped up because he couldn't properly flail his arms when he was pressed against his father like he could soak him in through osmosis. “That's what I said!”

“Is that why you were calling him a liar?” 

Lee stuck out his chin rather than take the scolding tone. “They're trying to teach me Sentinel things, but I did my research, just like you taught me, and the things he's saying aren't right.”

“What did I tell you about Sherlock, love?” Lee grumbled indistinguishable and in time with the rote answer he knew he ought to give. “Sorry, what was that?”

“He's one of the smartest men you've ever met.” Lee sighed. 

“And? What does Sherlock like to say all the time?”

“That you can't just see, you have to observe.” Lee groaned like the words were being dragged him by force. 

“And what does that mean here?”

“It means maybe my research wasn't right.”

“It could mean that love, or what else could it mean?”

Lee furrowed his little brow. “That maybe... Sherlock is wrong?”

“It's always possible. How do you figure out which one of you is? Or if maybe both of you are?”

Lee slumped himself back against Greg's chest, the perfect picture of dejection. “We talk about it.”

Greg carded his fingers through Lee's tangled mess of hair. “That's right, and talking doesn't involve calling people liars or shoving fingers in their faces, does it?”

Lee grumbled out his objection-laced apologies, and Greg glanced over to check on the rest of the dinner table. He'd had been expecting a whole slew of offense from Sherlock at the mere thought that he might be wrong about something, but the Sentinel hadn't made a peep. Greg expected either John's hand to be over Sherlock's mouth, or Sherlock to be curled up in a ball because Lee had done damage to more than just his shin when he crawled through. However, it was neither.

All the color had drained out of Sherlock’s face and he was staring at Mycroft like the man had just declared an intention to leave government service and retire to Baker Street. The abject horror was enough to make Greg want to break out in giggles—especially since it seemed to be a horror that Greg wasn't responsible for—but Mycroft wasn't looking back at his brother with all the pleasure that usually came with triggering that look. 

No, Mycroft Holmes was looking at Greg and Lee.

And it seemed the British Government’s smile was for them. 

It wasn’t a simple smile, but Greg had learned long ago that nothing the Holmes boys did was ever really that simple. Pleasure was a major part of the grim, for half a dozen obvious reasons—he’d outfoxed the Centre, he’d protected Greg’s son, he’d done what Sherlock couldn’t do, Greg discussed Sherlock with his son, etc. A piece of the smile was arousal, because for all his running about the house to find his son, Greg knew that he was standing there shirtless, but it couldn’t be much since Greg knew damn well his personality was a right bit sexier than his belly. And, he had a child in his arms, which wasn’t much to Mycroft’s tastes. 

The rest of the expression, however, was a tangled mess. He had that crinkle in between his eyebrows that meant he was trying to stop visualizing something, but he also had that penetrating stare that meant he was taking something down for long-term storage in his mind palace, and those two expressions didn’t usually go together.

Greg was certain he had to be misinterpreting something, but Sherlock obviously wasn’t. “No! No! Absolutely not! Delete! John, we’re going!” 

John’s pleas of, “But Sherlock,” didn’t do him a damn bit of good. Sherlock dragged him away from the table. It seemed Brim had interpreted both the facial expression and the repercussions of it because she handed John a container of food on his way out the door. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay, brother?” Mycroft called. “I’m sure you could be of help.”

While Greg could hear the deliberate pause before ‘help,’ he didn’t know what about the sentence was worthy of Sherlock’s pained bellow, or the way his voice cracked as he hollered back, “Delete!” 

“What on earth just happened?” Both Greg and Lee were staring at the door, dumbfounded. 

Their only answer was Basil stepping through the door with Greg’s shirt in hand. The butler somehow managed to scold Greg despite not actually showing an expression. “Right. Sorry, Basil.” 

“An understandable oversight given the circumstances, Inspector. Now, I believe your dinner is served.” Lee shimmied out of Greg’s grip and made his way back to his seat beside Mycroft. 

Some part of Greg had expected Lee and Mycroft to get along, but honestly, he hadn’t expected it to happen until one of those rare, but seemingly inevitable in his post-Sherlock life, times that Greg nearly ended up dead. Mycroft would swoop in and save the day, as he always did, and suddenly he and Lee would end up being friends after years of antagonism. Greg was almost positive that a hefty part of this sudden friendship was due to the enemy of enemy being a friend—the enemy in this scenario being Sherlock—but still.

“Uh… is everything alright?”

“Of course it is, Dad.”

“Is it really?” Lestrade asked the question of Lee, but turned his eyes on Mycroft.

“Surprisingly enough: yes. Leander and I have come to an accord and as a result have been greatly enjoying one another’s company.” 

“And by company you mean teasing Sherlock.”

“Among other things. Now come join us for dinner, Gregory.”

It absolutely wasn’t Mycroft’s words that pulled Greg to his seat, it was the smell of the roast that cook had managed to whip up in the short amount of time that she’d known she was going to have company. “And what exactly did the two of you come to an accord about?”

“Don’t worry about it, Dad.” Lee nudged his plate a little closer in the most obvious distraction move Greg had ever seen, and that was even after years with Sherlock basically waving something shiny in front of his face to keep him from noticing that he was high. 

“You know me, Lee. Worrying is what I do.” 

The boy just snorted. “You have to worry about other people, that doesn’t mean you have to worry about us.” 

“Though I am loathe to admit it, Leander is correct. There is nothing in this house that you need to worry about this evening.” Lee asked him what loathed meant, then snapped back something sarcastic of his own when he had the translation. Mycroft insulted Lee’s intelligence before Greg had the chance to scold his son, and in his shock Lee got in a dig of his own about age. Before Greg was two bites into his dinner he realized that apparently his son and his Mycroft had forged a relationship of mutual snark, and Greg was torn between laughing at their retorts and dragging them both into time out by their ears. 

Greg felt a little bit like a shit for using fascinating to describe a dinner that involved his kid, but it was. Mycroft could run verbal rings around pretty much everyone who wasn’t Sherlock, so it was a pleasure to watch him give Lee soft verbal kicks that made the boy feel like the king of the pitch. Every comment was set up with a smile, lined up so Lee could bounce off it. In his mind’s eye Greg could see a young Mycroft doing the same for little Sherlock, the two of them constitutionally incapable of speaking their feelings and so snarking back and forth at a speed and with a vigor no one else could manage. 

(And yes, there was a part of Greg that wondered when the two boys had gone from this harmless teasing to the brutality they used now. Had it been a little bit at a time? One or two comments slipping out that shouldn’t have been said until they only spoke in things that were meant to cut? Or did it happen all at once, one of them bringing up some detail that only they could deduce and going for the killing blow? As charming as this particular conversation was, Greg was already mentally scheduling a chat with each of them to remind them that teasing wasn’t enough, and that when they pushed too hard words hurt. It would be uncomfortable for all three of them, but Greg could say with confidence that he was the only one of them with a good grip on what a child needed to be emotionally healthy.) 

Anthea was the one who put an end to their supper in a way that seconds couldn’t quite manage by announcing, “Sir, you asked to be updated when a second unit arrived.” 

Based off the pinch in the corner of Mycroft’s mouth, he hadn’t wanted that announcement made in front of Greg and Lee, so of course Greg asked what she was talking about. Before Mycroft could declare it unimportant, Anthea answered, and really, that woman deserved a raise for the amount of balls that it took to cut off Mycroft. “The Centre has had observation on the house all afternoon.” And now, apparently, that observation had grown to two whole units of trained Sentinel/Guide teams.

“Why would they need two teams? Are they planning on storming the house?” Greg had meant it more as a joke than anything, but Mycroft tilted his head in the way that meant he was doing calculations. 

“It is unlikely that they would try, and even if they make an attempt there will be no breaching the defenses. This house originally belonged to my Uncle, and his enemies were far more ruthless than mine could attempt to be. The security has only improved since I moved in. If spies couldn’t get in before I updated the systems, de facto security guards cannot get in now.” For all that Mycroft was looking at Greg, he kept talking about the details until the tension slipped from Lee’s shoulders. 

“The head of the London Sentinel/Guide Council asked Mr. Holmes for a meeting one hour and four minutes after you arrived at the house, presumably after his agents had accepted that you were not taken to Baker Street.” And there went Anthea, putting her life on the line yet again.

“And the two units are there to convince Mycroft that the Council means business. So you’re just going to leave them outside all night?” 

“They can wait until morning.”

“They’re the Centre, Croft!” 

“No, at the moment they’re behaving like spoilt children, not representatives of my people. I refuse to condone such terrible manners. If we cater to their demands we’ll just be rewarding poor behavior. Civilized people schedule an appointment if they want to meet with someone under my protection, not turn up outside my home like poorly trained spies.”

“It doesn’t make them poorly trained just because Lycius can tell they’re there. That’s not a good barometer.”

“There were two waiting in a car down the street and keeping an eye on my door. It was only after Sherlock left that the cavalry arrived. My judgment about their training is based upon their faulty notion that my concern for you and Leander is based solely upon Sherlock’s attachment. That is an oversight of egregious proportions.”

Lee gave a furious nod of his head in agreement, not at all hesitant to back up Mycroft against their combined enemy. They were a perfect picture sitting next to one another, dark and light and two of the most important people in his life. “The two of your really have bonded, haven’t you?” Lestrade couldn’t help the smile that broke over his face. 

For all that he was surrounded by geniuses, Greg wasn’t a stupid man. He knew that Mycroft had, what Greg would call it if it was anyone else on the planet, a bit of a crush on him, which was nothing compared to the raging infatuation that Greg had for Mycroft. But he also knew that Mycroft Holmes was the most risk averse man in the history of the world. Mycroft was the sort of fellow that when he had a sexual itch—if he even had one at all—he would satisfy it with a well paid, and unbelievably discrete professional. Starting up an actual romantic relationship was so far beyond Mycroft’s personality and his security concerns that Greg had assumed it would never happen. (Or at least, not until the both of them retired.) But here Mycroft was, taking the time and effort to bond with Mycroft’s kid. That had to count for something.

Mycroft and Lee stared at one another, wary but comfortable in the kind of record time that Greg had never dared to dream. “So, if we’re going to pretend like the Centre isn’t waiting outside for Mycroft to cave, are either one of you going to tell me what you talked about while I was out?”

Lee glanced at Mycroft, which told Greg that their coming together hadn’t been nearly as smooth as they liked to pretend. “Mycroft started teaching me about how to control my senses, and not just how to turn them on and off, but how to figure out the stuff that they’re really telling me.”

Greg choked on his tea. “Are you teaching my son to deduce?” 

“It’s really not that complicated. His senses are extremely powerful, he simply needs to observe what it is they’re actually telling him.”

“So yes, is what you’re telling me. You’re turning my son into another you and Sherlock.”

“I’m afraid he has too much of your empathy to manage precisely like Sherlock and I, but he will certainly be a better Sentinel than the vast majority of those who bear the name.”

“I feel like there was an insult there and I’m not sure if it was directed at me or at the other Sentinels.”

“A bit of both to be honest.” Lee giggled, though he didn’t quite understand the teasing flying around him, he simply knew his father was smiling and that was good enough for him. 

Anthea had been lurking in the doorway, furiously tapping away at her phone in a way that told Greg there was probably more going on outside that she would brief Mycroft about as soon as they weren’t in hearing range. (She’d already pushed her luck with Mycroft quite enough.) While she stood there, Basil stepping into the room and announced that despite not calling ahead, the Director for the England Sentinel and Guide Centre had just arrived at Mycroft’s front door and was demanding entrance. “His Guide is attempting to compel Lycius into compliance.”

Greg rose halfway out of his seat. “Is Lycius all right?”

“He is amused by their ineffectual efforts.” 

Whatever questions Greg might have asked—both about the Sentinels and Anthea’s glower at Basil for stealing her thunder—were cut off by Mycroft’s sigh. “Tell Lycius he may show them into the sitting room, Anthea. Basil, if you would serve tea.” He left with a sharp nod, and she with an even sharper smile. “Mrs. Brim, when this is over Gregory is going to need a slice of the cake you have lurking in the cupboard.” 

“Me too?” Lee asked.

“Perhaps a small slice. I remember all too well the perils of children and sugar too late in the evening.”


	6. Chapter 6

For a man who made his career out of avoiding anyone’s direct notice, Mycroft certainly managed to command everyone’s attention when he felt like it.

 

In a fit of entirely unexpected transparency, Mycroft had spent a few minutes at the supper table warning the Lestrades about what to expect from the Centre heads, while Basil handled the heavy lifting of politeness and got the interlopers settled into the sitting room where they could wait as damn well as long as Mycroft felt like making them. It was a change in policy that Greg wasn’t going to complain about, even though he was pretty sure that Mycroft was more concerned about telling Lee things than he was Greg.

 

“It will be their intention to get this handled as quickly and as quietly as possible. The longer this incident continues, the more likely it is that France and the **International Council** will get involved, and if that happens, Britain will lose any chance of influence.”

 

“Handled how?”

 

“Once a Sentinel enters a Centre it is the height of difficulty to get them back out if the Centre doesn’t want them to go. In Lee’s case, it will be an honor for whatever Centre is granted the ability to train him, and as a result it will extend their sphere of influence for at least several decades to come. France will, of course, petition to have Leander returned to his home country, and thus, home Centre, but it will difficult verging on impossible to force England to release Leander because he is so young. The London Centre will declare that he is far too unstable to make the move, and it would be easy for the Centre to make that a self-fulfilling prophecy. By the time they are no longer able to continue that ruse, presumably Leander will want to stay right where he is.”

 

“Are all Centres this horrible?” Lee asked. Mycroft’s explanation was enough to divert him from his thorough sensory study of the kitchen. (Mycroft couldn’t blame him. He’d also devoted much of his youth to hunting down hidden sweets.)

 

“Horrible is a matter of perspective.”

 

“Well, yeah, Obi-Wan, but it seems like taking a kid like me someplace against my will is the kind of thing that people on the telly get arrested for.”

 

“The entire Sentinel and Guide community will justify this behavior because you might be a danger to yourself and to others. It is the same logic as committing a child who you consider a risk for self-harm.”

 

“But why do they get to decide where I get committed to?”

 

“Because you unwittingly put yourself in their sphere of influence. Other Centres will object to London keeping you in their care, but their arguments will have to be about the logistics rather than the immorality of choosing your location. After all, there is a hypocrisy in objecting to any one Centre choosing your place of internment when they all will be trying to be the one to make that choice.”

 

“And Sentinels like to avoid hypocrisy?”

 

“No more than any other human being. The population of Sentinels and Guides who support the Centres are the ones who will have more of an objection about your treatment. Though they will be pacified once the Centre explains that it is in your best interest that they make the decisions. You are a child, after all.”

 

“But if anyone gets to decide that kind of stuff it should be my mom and dad!”

 

“Neither your mother or your father are members of the Sentinel community, and so the Centres will justify their lack of involvement solely on those grounds. However, your maternal grandfather has connections high up in France’s Sentinel hierarchy, which he would undoubtedly use to secure your return to France. Hence the London Centre’s desire to resolve this situation as quickly as possible, before your grandfather is able to marshal his resources.”

 

“Then why aren’t we just calling grandpa?”

 

“Because the first person your grandfather would call to help is your birth father.”

 

“And he doesn’t want me.”

 

“As we have discussed, it is less a matter of him not wanting you than it is a matter of wanting to avoid the repercussions that will come with acknowledging how he failed you.”

 

“So you don’t want this to happen fast enough for England to hide me, but you also don’t want France to find out?”

 

“I am content with France finding out, so long as your birth father is not the only person in France who finds out.”

 

“I don’t understand the plan.”

 

“Don’t worry, Lee.” Greg ruffled his hair. “I don’t get it either. That’s normally how plans go with a Holmes in charge. But Mycroft’s plans all seem to work out in the end.”

 

“Your confidence is inspiring, Gregory.”

 

Just as Mycroft had been unwilling to let Lee write himself off barely a minute ago, Greg was unwilling to let Mycroft do the same. “I’ve got enough confidence that we’re sitting in your kitchen right now instead of off hiding someplace.”

 

“You have my word, Gregory.” Before Mycroft could slither away with the last word, Greg grabbed him by the wrist and kept him at the table. The two engaged in a bit longer of a staring match than it probably should have been. Greg knew that Mycroft could twist the situation seventeen different ways from Sunday and manage to bring everything around precisely the way he wanted it. For Mycroft, the chosen way would usually be the one best for the country, the Queen, the tribe, and then his family, in that specific order. But today, Greg knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Lee’s interests were at the very top of Mycroft’s scale of importance.

 

Greg leaned in, invading the personal space bubble that Mycroft held as sacrosanct. “I trust you, Croft. I trust you with this, and I trust you with my boy.”

 

“That is a trust I will honor. Now, I believe it is time we deal with the Centre representatives before Basil huffs them right out the front door for their poor manners.”

 

Lee had ignored the conversation once Mycroft moved beyond answering his questions, but the moment Mycroft rose from the table Lee bounded over and took Lestrade’s hand, guiding him out of the kitchen and through the house like after an hour of snooping he knew Mycroft’s house better than Greg did. Considering they were about to have a meeting with a room full of people who were going to try and take his son away from him, Greg should’ve been less pleased by that than he was. But even the puckered distaste of the Council’s representatives didn’t mean a thing in the face of the two of them actually trying to get along—Mycroft had let Lee snoop, and Lee kept trying to put himself in between Mycroft and the sitting room door.

 

Despite Lee’s best efforts, Mycroft led Greg and Lee to their own sofa, across the space from the Centre’s Alpha Sentinel and Guide couple, as well as the bundle of other people hovering about. Who was a Sentinel and who was a Guide, Greg couldn’t tell. And all of them stiffened when Mycroft swept into the room, so that was no help. “Gregory, Leander, it is my unfortunate responsibility to introduce Sentinel Caleb Lowry, and Guide Maria Gilbert. They are the Council pair responsible for the London Centre.”

 

“I thought the head of the Council was supposed to do that?” Lee asked, the mouthy little snot cut off Sentinel Lowry halfway through his first word, and Greg’s son didn’t look at all embarrassed by his bad behavior. Given the circumstances, Greg wouldn’t have scolded him, but Basil made sure to put a cuppa straight in his hand to distract him.

 

“It is not uncommon for the head pair to assume control over the Centre, but the likelihood of that depends on the size of the territory they have jurisdiction over and the size of the Council itself, as well as their own skill set. For example, despite their power and control over their gifts, no one in their right mind would ever put Sherlock and John in charge of a Centre.”

 

“Your brother has no place on the Council” Lowry snapped.

                                                                                                              

Mycroft cut him off before he could complain even more. “Hush, Lowry. I am teaching.” The man went so red Greg thought his cheeks might actually explode. Mycroft kept his focus on Lee, who was soaking up the information like he used to in his obsession with dinosaurs. “In this instance, the head of the British Council devotes much of his time to European politics. His notion of defending the tribe leans more towards England should be for the English than towards broader construction of tribe as humanity. Under normal circumstances Lowry and Gilbert are rather good at their roles, however Lowry pride gets in the way of his competency when it comes to dealing with me, and rather than stop him, Gilbert follows him into misbehaving.” The Sentinel sputtered in fury, while his Guide had the blush of the thoroughly chastised. Before either one of them could object or apologize, Mycroft moved on. “As representative of this pattern of behavior, it is abominably rude to appear at a man’s house without notice and before he’s had the chance to finish his supper.”

 

“You don’t believe in leisurely supper, Mycroft.” Gilbert objected.

 

“I believe in leisurely _everything_ when I am off for the weekend.” There was so much innuendo laden in that sentence that the whole thing went thankfully right over Lee’s head, while Greg blushed tomato red. His reaction only made the innuendo worse. Greg refused to meet Mycroft’s eyes, but that only led him to the whole room full of people who it seemed had been operating under the notion that Mycroft had no such thing as a sex drive. A good chunk of them were blushing like they’d just realized their parents still had sex, while enough of them to stoke Greg’s ego were looking between he and Mycroft like they were quite proud of him for snagging Greg.

 

“Sentinel Holmes, I allow you to get away with—”

 

“I beg your pardon Director, but you don’t _let me_ get away with anything. I outrank you in the Council’s hierarchy, in the government’s, in the realm’s, in intelligence, and in the more archaic methods of determining Alphas. You are beneath me in every way, shape, and form, save for in the sexual manners that you are too close-minded to appreciate.”

 

“Nah, Croft, I’d bet you’re better than him there too.” Greg smirked through his blush, though he was pretty sure half of the room was going to explode in their own confusion.

 

“Well, you would certainly know, Gregory.” And that was why you never picked a verbal battle with Mycroft Holmes. “As you can see Director, you’ve interrupted a family evening with politics that might have been resolved at a scheduled meeting on Monday.”

 

“I came to discuss the feral, immature Sentinel you snuck out of Scotland Yard, Holmes. Not to be privy to the disgusting details of your sexual perversions.”

 

Mycroft was on his feet in a heartbeat. The rest of the room’s Sentinels were slower to react, but every damn one of them looked nervous. Mycroft didn’t look like much when it came to fighting, but Greg had seen trained government agents trip over themselves to get the hell out of Mycroft’s way. That was why he let Mycroft do the posturing while he put aside his own irritation and took a leisurely sip of tea while Mycroft gave his lesson.

 

“You will leave my home.”

 

“Holmes—”

 

“No. I was prepared to indulge your inappropriate curiosity in regards to Leander and inform you that the boy was suffering from sensory overload, not descending into a bout of feralness. And that I, in a far better position to judge the situation that you in your offices, chose to reunite the boy with his father, who he is using as the center of his senses, and bring them both to a Sentinel-friendly environment that they both consider safe, but you have insulted people in my care and I no longer find myself willing to endure your bad behavior.”

 

“ _My_ bad—you can’t hide away a Prime in your kitchen, Holmes!”

 

“He is neither hidden, nor has he spent the majority of his time in my kitchen. You make it sound as though I am the witch preparing him for supper.”

 

“You may as well be! Your pride is going to get that child killed!”

 

“Pride is only a deficiency when it is misplaced, Lowry. And I assure you, the only member of the Lestrade family I intend to eat isn’t the child.”

 

“Croft? I thought Sentinels eating people was just the kind of thing the crazy internet people thought we did.”

 

Lowry actually sputtered, though whether it was at Mycroft talking about his sexual plans for the evening – and no, Greg didn’t want to think about what the Sentinels could smell on him right now at the mental image of being spread out on Mycroft’s sheets while the man took him apart with his tongue – or if it was because Lee had called him ‘Croft,’ Greg didn’t know. “Remember what your father told you about taking the time to observe rather than merely see. Do you logically believe that I would ever cannibalize another person?”

 

Lee furrowed his brow. “No. You’d be worried that their stupidity would rub off on you.”

 

Mycroft’s lips actually gave a little twist upwards as he snorted in amusement. From the expressions in the room you would’ve thought a bomb had gone off. It seemed that worse than Mycroft talking about sex, than Greg flirting, then Lee treating the terrifying Holmes like a friend… was Mycroft Holmes cracking a smile.

 

The shock was enough that Basil managed to usher half of the group out the front door before any of them realized that their stupor was being taken advantage of. “You can’t do this, Holmes!” Lowry objected, resisting as his little Guide tried to nudge him out.

 

“I was under the impression that guests don’t get to tell a man what to do in the confines of his own home.”

 

“However you might believe you outrank me, I am still the head of England’s Council and you are nothing but a consultant. You take your orders from me, and if you fail to do your duty then I will have you removed!”

 

“I am sure her majesty will be stunned to discover that my orders have actually been coming from a political compromise of an appointee rather than from her. But do attempt to have me removed from my position, I would appreciate a few hours vacation that it would take to gather everyone together to expel you from your position and establish your replacement. Perhaps if I feign irritation at my treatment I might actually get a chance to guilt them into letting me go on vacation.”

 

“Where will we go?” Lee asked, invited himself along on the trip.

 

“I thought we might venture to America.” Lee instantly rambled about one of his classmates who’d been to Disney World, but the few Sentinels who’d resisted Basil’s polite directions heard something entirely different.

 

Greg knew that the Alpha Prime who was supposedly in charge of all Sentinels was an American – it would be hard not to know with the way Americans always went on about it. So it wasn’t much of a leap to realize what Mycroft was threatening them all with if they pushed him too far. Give him the excuse and Mycroft would be on his way across the ocean to drag _The_ Alpha Prime into this mess.

 

Judging by the few things Mycroft had ‘let slip’ about the Prime, they weren’t good friends. (Mycroft always struggled with people who lacked even a basic respect for politics.) But friends or not, Mycroft respected the man. If he were a betting sort of fellow, Greg would wager that there were just about as many people in the world that Mycroft respected as he liked, and both were distressingly low numbers. Greg couldn’t imagine a world where Mycroft would respect someone who didn’t respect him back, which meant that if push came to shove the world’s Alpha Prime would be pushing on Mycroft’s team. Judging by Alpha’s Lowry’s expression – which looked a good ten seconds away from trying to punch Mycroft in the face – he knew which one of them held the cards.

 

Rather than raise the stakes or feign stupidity about what he was being threatened with, the Alpha couple stomped out of the house with a huff. No matter how he pretended otherwise, Mycroft would always be Sherlock’s brother, and so he called after them out the door. “Do offer my hellos to the rest of the Council. And provide them my assurances that I’ll be happy to chat with them about things on Monday.”

 

There was a part of Greg that could appreciate Mycroft’s subtle threats and the plausible deniability that came with them. It was the same part of Greg that always found it a bit more attractive than he ought when Mycroft swept into a crime scene and started deducing with all the irritated efficiency he used whenever Greg managed to talk him into doing Sherlock’s job for him.

 

There was another part that knew damn well when Greg was being kept out of something. Normally the little voice in the back of his head that said the Holmes brothers were playing games with him shut itself up with a sigh because Greg had learned a lifetime ago about the value of picking your battles. Normally murderers still ended up caught, and Greg didn’t place his pride above bringing victims justice.

 

In this instance, however, there was no one there to conduct the battle but Greg.

 

So he kept his smile out all through their after-confrontation cake. And he let Lee stay up a little bit later than he ought so his son could grill Mycroft about the different Sentinel hierarchies throughout the world.

 

(“But why does America have a Prime and we have a Council?”

 

“America has both. Usually larger cities have Councils while Primes preside over smaller territories.”

 

“But _why_?”

 

“Anthropologists have been asking that question for centuries. Usually things boil down to: they’re American.”)

 

Then Greg made his boy shower with all the special Sentinel products that Mycroft had on hand, and wrapped him up in some Iron Man pajamas complete with Sentinel-friendly fabric. He told Lee a story from memory, and sang his boy French lullabies with his too-gritty voice.

 

When Lee finally slipped into dreamland, Greg left him with a kiss and made his way to Mycroft’s personal office. The man knew what was coming. It wasn’t the chilled bottle of beer waiting for him on table, or the extra piece of cake that had probably been torturing Mycroft, or even the little lit light on his desk that meant he’d turned on the highest quality jammer her majesties government could produce so that no matter how much Greg shouted, no eavesdroppers – Sentinel or otherwise – would get through.

 

No, what told Greg that Mycroft knew he was coming, and knew he was angry, was that there were no servants in the halls to say hello. Usually Mycroft’s staff thought he was the best thing since sliced bread – particularly since their employer had cut gluten out of his diet with a vengeance. No, the staff of Mycroft Holmes had gone into hiding, and to be honest, that just irritated Greg all the more.

 

Greg didn’t stomp into Mycroft’s office – he was a grown man, and grown men didn’t stomp. He dropped into the spare chair, took a pull on his beer to calm his temper, and demanded, “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”


	7. Chapter 7

When Greg asked Mycroft about what had happened, there was a moment where Holmes thought about giving him the same sort of glib answer he always did when Greg wanted to know about the particulars of Mycroft’s day. Mycroft was the champion of vague yet reassuring explanations that somehow evolved into Greg rambling out a story of his own. Considering most of Mycroft’s life was the property of the Official Secrets Act, Greg didn’t much mind that he didn’t get to know anything, but the rules that governed their usually interactions didn’t apply today. 

Judging by Mycroft’s long sigh, he knew that. “Where in particular would you like me to begin?” 

“How did you know that Lee was at my office?”

“The border agents at St Pancras are trained to recognize feral Sentinels as a matter of national security. Leander wasn’t feral, but his presence was enough to register in their scans of the station. They let him pass because he seemed in perfect control of his faculties, but they still logged that an underage, developing Sentinel had arrived on his own. Due to my oversight position, Anthea receives alerts of such things. She recognized Leander’s face from the security footage and informed me.”

The level of detail in that explanation was actually a bit stunning. “Thank you for telling me all that.”

“You seem surprised.”

“Well, you’ve never actually admitted to anything beyond just being a Sentinel. I mean, I’ve got the sense to assume a bit about what you get up to for them, but that’s not the same thing as you saying it out loud.”

“I meant no offense, Gregory. There was simply no reason to entangle you in Sentinel politics before now.”

“Why? I mean, I have to deal with Sentinels all the time at work, and I might have soothed a few of the ruffled feathers that your brother leaves in his wake if I’d known a bit more.”

“No, your ignorance was your best defense. Sherlock flouts Sentinel convention with even more vigor than he flouts the rules of regular society. You already feel compelled to make amends to everyone that Sherlock barrels over, it would be a terrible burden to attempt to sooth offenses that you do not understand and in a culture to which you do not belong.”

“And I’m not making things worse by not playing peacemaker?”

“No. First, Sherlock would not appreciate the gesture. It is likely that he would cause even more offense in new and spectacular ways just to punish you for trying to help. Second, a considerable portion of Sentinel interaction is rooted in the perceived status of an individual in our hierarchy. Sherlock is allowed dash about causing offense to all and sundry because he outranks virtually every Sentinel he has ever and will ever come across. Those he does not outrank in raw power he can outpace in skill.”

“How on earth do you lot determine that rank? Because when I was a Constable the Sentinel in charge of the Yard was a bloke the size a bear who no one wanted to pick a fight with. Then he retired at it went to a lovely lady no bigger than a toothpick, but when she smiled at you all the blood left your head. Now that she’s transferred up to Edinburgh I couldn’t tell you who’s in charge. I mean, sometimes Abernathy swans about like he did today, like he’s the bloke who knows best, but if John hadn’t broken his nose then once of the Constables was about to handle the fight himself.”

“Sherlock dominates his interactions with other Sentinels because they are brief. They may seem interminable during the encounter, but he retains no consistent control over any of them. Were Sherlock a detective at NSY his psionic and physical power would not be enough to make him the Alpha, as they were for the first Alpha you mentioned. The position requires a certain degree of interpersonal ability, which your second Alpha presumably had in spades. 

“It is perhaps be easiest to imagine a inverse scale of power and charisma for any Sentinel who would be Alpha. The greater their power level, the less charm they are required to have, whereas the more charm, the less power. Power, of course, being a catchall term for physical and psionic strength, as well as skill in the field in question, political connections, and overall mental acuity.” 

“So that’s your fancy way of saying Sherlock can be an ass because he’s clever.”

“Blunt, but accurate. Were he actually within the Yard’s hierarchy he would undoubtedly have enough strength to be the Alpha, but if he wanted to hold the position for any significant length of time he would need to have a Beta – a right hand, if you will – to handle the interpersonal matters in which he so egregiously lacks.”

“And Abernathy isn’t charming enough to be Alpha over the young Sentinel who nearly punched him today?”

“Ah, Abernathy’s deficiency lies not in his charm, such as it is, but in his strength.”

“You mean to tell me that that great, smarmy, showoff is a weak Sentinel? He’s been prancing around for a decade trying to tell me shit about my evidence and he’s actually weak?”

“Not as such, no.”

“But you said—” 

“That strength has a multiplicity of meanings. Inspector Abernathy’s psionic abilities are perfectly serviceable. In this case, it is his failings in his professional abilities that keep him from rising to the level of Alpha.”

“But he’s a damn good detective.”

“You’re better.”

Greg gave a charming blush. “Thank’s for that, but—”

“I am not being complimentary, Gregory. It is fact. Your solve rate is exemplary, and you have a habit of training Sergeants who then leave your care and go on to become well regarded detectives in their own right. Abernathy cannot become Alpha over Scotland Yard when he is so professionally outclassed. And all of that is putting aside that you are one of the few people on the planet who is able to exert any degree over Sherlock Holmes, who is undoubtedly the strongest Sentinel many of your co-workers have ever encountered. You command a Sentinel who could and has easily command Abernathy, meaning that in the basest sense of the hierarchy, you outpace Abernathy.”

“So… that boy nearly hit a superior officer because he thinks I’m his Alpha.”

“No, Gregory. They are not confused about you taking some place in the hierarchy. They know you are purely human. Your abilities are some much to your advantage as they are to Abernathy’s disadvantage. In this particular instance, I am sure the discomfort Leander was broadcasting was enough to inspire the potential violence.” 

“Discomfort.” Greg sighed the word to himself. It didn’t do justice to Lee writhing in his arms like he couldn’t stand the air touching his skin. All the questions Greg had about Sentinels and all the little explanations about how they saw the world that he wanted to know didn’t really mean a thing compared to what he should be asking. “Croft, what’s happening to my boy?” 

“He’s coming online.”

“Coming online, or online?”

“Still coming. Despite what popular culture would have you believe, Sentinel emergence is usually a matter of several months. On the rare occasion when a Sentinel is forced through their emergence in a brief period of time it is usually in response to very specific and traumatic stimuli. The influx of adrenaline that comes with an unanticipated emergence is typically enough to see a Sentinel through their situation before they are overcome. Hopefully by that point the newly emerged Sentinel will have found their way into the care of the Centre, or at the very least a skilled Guide. Without that interference, the Sentinel will lose any semblance of control and find themselves in the agony of an unprotected emergence. All of their senses will be fully online because they will not have had the time or the guidance necessary to learn how to use them, or at least mute them. The dreadful record that our community used to have for Sentinels surviving emergence was due almost exclusively to lack of proper post-emergence care.” 

“So Lee is coming online slowly, which is better because it means you can show him how to use his senses before they hurt him.”

“Precisely.”

“Then what in the hell happened today?” Mycroft eyed the untouched slice of cake still sitting on the table like he would need the sugar to make it through the rest of the conversation. “Out with it Croft.”

“Were you aware that Leander’s mother is recently engaged?”

“No, but it doesn’t surprise me. This will be the seventh fiancé that I’m aware of, and based off the stories she’s told me I’m sure there’s more who just haven’t been important enough to mention.” Mycroft looked mortified, though Greg thought it was a bit more about engaging in seven serious relationships at all than it was about Isabelle telling her ex the details about her new fiancés. “Don’t look so shocked, Mycroft. She’s the heiress to a massive sodding fortune. Over half of them were more about setting up business deals than they were about an actual relationship. Both she and the blokes knew full well that they weren’t going to make it anywhere near the altar.”

“And the rest were love matches?”

“Don’t be snide.” Greg picked up the cake slice in punishment. “There were maybe two other men she might have managed a happy marriage with, but she never loved any of us the way she loved Lee’s father. She had the decency to be honest about that from the beginning, it’s just that there aren’t many men who don’t eventually get bothered knowing that they’re just a placeholder for someone else.”

“Tell me Gregory, were you ever a fiancé?”

Greg raised an eyebrow and took a massive and reproachful bite. “I don’t make it a habit of proposing to a woman who gives her father veto power over her relationships. We were young and I was her bit of rough, and I was fine that with that. Her father, Daniel, probably would’ve put a stop to a relationship years before if Lee hadn’t loved me as much as he does. Man is soft for his grandson, as he should be. So our romance, such as it was, got to end in its own good time and not when Daniel got irritated with me cramping their posh style. So if you think it was Izzy getting engaged that set Lee off, I think the great Mycroft Holmes might be missing some details.”

Mycroft bit back the urge to snap that whatever Greg thought about his lack, Mycroft’s capacity for details extended to knowing that Greg preferred to be fucked flat on his belly. He told himself that it was because his left knee couldn’t stand another position for very long, but in truth, Greg liked to be held down, liked how liberating it was to be made to take his pleasure without having to admit out loud how desperately he wanted to be made, with hushed words whispered in his ear about how well he took it, and how perfectly tight he was around Mycroft’s cock.

The moment the thought crossed his mind and settled on his lips, Mycroft swallowed it back. Greg was exhausted from playing Guide all afternoon, he was scared for his son, and he was always a bit sensitive when he thought Mycroft was talking to him like he was an idiot. Now was certainly not the time for Mycroft to lose his temper. (Despite the way Gregory’s cheeks would flush and his eyes would dilate at the thought that if Mycroft could tell those things about him just from looking, what other secret thoughts might he be willing and able to fulfill.) 

Instead, Mycroft answered with all conciliatory politeness. “Leander told me that his mother’s engagement was what drove him to come to see you today rather than wait for you to arrive at his home for your scheduled vacation. Obviously there is more to it than that given that he has certainly met his mother’s numerous suitors several times before, but he has not yet divulged the particulars to me.”

“Do you think the new beau is hurting him?”

“No. I imagine if that were the case then Leander’s coming online would have been far more explosive than the speedy but steady reaction that we’ve witnessed. I presume that you are correct, there is some particular interaction or background detail that triggered his emergence, but either he is reluctant to share it, or he is unaware of its existence in the first place. Given that he is a child, it is more likely the latter than the former.”

“Does it matter what triggered him into coming online this young?”

“Only if it was an incident of violence or abuse. However, as I said, I do believe that is unlikely. Leander seems to me to be the kind of young man that if anyone ever attempted to touch him inappropriately or threaten him in any way, his first action would likely be to kick them in the shin and then call for you. Both of which are actions I wholeheartedly support in this instance.” 

“I appreciate that.” Greg chucked, and Mycroft knew he was out of the woods. “I’ll still ask Lee about it, just to make sure that he’s not hiding anything, but Izzy, she’s not a bad mum. Lee would tell her if something had happened. He’d still tell me, but he would only keep things from her if he thought it would get her hurt. Which, believe me, is a lecture we’ve given him a dozen times. He’s a child, and children don’t need to protect their parents.”

“Is this a recent concern of his?”

“He’s a boy growing up with just him and his mom, Mycroft. I think it’s universal trait, not a Sentinel one.” Mycroft gave Greg that polite little nod he always pulled out when he was humoring his friend and Greg let it slide because he wasn’t wrong about people nearly as often as Mycroft liked to pretend.

Greg moved back to the slice of cake, and yes, he made some more obscenely pleased noises with every bite than he would have under normal circumstances. Mycroft got that little twitch that meant he knew damn well was Greg was doing, but despite the better judgment of his brain, his body couldn’t help but succumb. 

Greg let the cake distract him – and by cake, he meant Mycoft’s involuntary lick of his lips. But it wasn’t enough. Greg dropped the fork with a clatter and said, “Mycroft, I need you to tell me if I’m doing the right thing here.”

“Considering that thus far your actions have been to trust my judgment on the matter and my judgment on most issues, let alone those that pertain to Sentinels, is impeccable, yes. You are doing the right thing.” 

“Everyone else might believe that I’m just going along with what you tell me, but you and I both know that’s not the truth. This whole mess couldn’t have worked out better for me if I’d dreamt it up. Sure, I’d rather my boy didn’t come online so terrifyingly young, but you’ve taken my lemons and turned them in sodding lemon meringue pie. You’re not asking me what I want so I can run around feeling lucky that things have worked out in my favor, but it’s not luck, it’s the will of Mycroft Holmes. So now I need to ask you for your honest, genuine opinion: is this really the right thing for my boy? Or are you doing what’s best for me?”

Mycroft heaved a heavy sigh, then took the cake from Greg’s hands and took a bite before he answered. “To be blunt Gregory, if I were to do what I think is best for you, you would have been retired from Scotland Yard for several years. You would be solving cases with John and Sherlock out of a building that none of you actually lived in because bringing clients and potential killers back to your home is a gesture of blind stupidity that you would not tolerate. The two of them would run about getting the adrenaline fill that keeps them so content, while you would handle the justice aspect of case solving so the victims did not get so consistently lost in my dear brother’s need to solve puzzles.”

Don’t think that Greg didn’t notice Mycroft’s word choice that Greg would be the voice of justice rather than the law. The law was there for a reason, but there was a vicious part of Greg that liked the idea of actually punishing people for what they had done, not for what they could be found guilty of. 

(Not that Greg much liked to listen to that particular part of his brain. Reason always won out, but before it did there was always a moment there where he wondered what kind of man it would make him if he went to Sherlock and started to rant. Sherlock wouldn’t get his hands dirty with seeing to it that someone got murdered in prison or struck by a car as they crossed the street, but Moriarty hadn’t been the one to do the killing himself either. That was always the thought that stalled Greg before he lost his temper. He was one of the few moral men that Sherlock had in his life and the last thing he needed was to lose his own way and have that be what sent Sherlock careening off into the villain end of the pool.)

“My vision of what’s best for you would involve you working a much shorter day, with a powerful bonded pair watching over you instead of the incompetent, self-serving idiots you surround yourself with and are forced to clean up after because their pride gets in the way of their work. While Sherlock and John run about at all hours of the night risking their lives because they can’t stand to do things in an efficient manner, you would come home at night to house with the sort of security that a man who puts away serial killers for a living should have. My vision involves a custody arrangement that hinges upon the decision of a court rather than the goodwill of your ex-lover. It involves you taking what you want for your life rather than amicably accepting what you have been given as though that’s all you deserve.

“Given your absurd levels of selflessness when it comes to the people you care for, what you want most is what’s best for your child, which means that what you’re really sitting in my study and asking me is whether or not I should have put the both of you on a plane back to France so you can give up your life and your career to be the one who provides your non-biological child with all the emotional support he will need after his birth father’s apathy and his mother’s social climbing leaves him in a wreak. All this just because you are naive enough to believe that it is more important that your child be taught how to be a Sentinel by the pathetic excuse of a man who did nothing but contribute his sperm than admit that for all our moral failings and the potential selfishness of the location, you’d rather have Leander here in London learning from Sherlock and I.”

Greg took his cake back and jumped straight to the frosting lining the edge. “You think Dubois isn’t going to finally acknowledge Lee?”

Mycroft was a grown and polished man, so he didn’t roll his eyes at the desperate attempt to avoid the discomfort of the truth. “Not if he can help it. Admitting that he fathered a child will be Dubois’s last possible avenue of action. Leander looks like his mother, your name is on the birth certificate, and Sentinel Dubois has put so much effort into denying Leander’s very existence that the refusal of a child has engrained itself in the way he is perceived by other Sentinels. The only thing that could verify him as Leander’s biological father is a DNA test, and Dubois would move heaven and earth and all the people whom might be bribed in between to keep that from happening.”

“Over dinner you said that Lee is going to be powerful. If appearances are so damn important to him why wouldn’t he want to claim an Alpha as his son? And just pretend that no one ever told him?”

“It’s impossible. Even if Ms. Collet had never told him, he still would have known that he had a child in the world. A Sentinel of his caliber likely recognized that he a child coming the moment Leander quickened in his mother’s womb, and that likely the exact same moment that Dubois began working on untangling himself from any recognition of the boy. Denying that he had any idea about Leander’s existence would be a lie on par with claiming that no one ever taught him that the earth is round. No one of sense would believe him. He will do everything in his not inconsiderable power to keep anyone from accumulating actual proof that Leander is his child, and yes, that is a desperation that I intend to take advantage of, both for your sake and for Leander’s.” 

Greg finally put the half-eaten plate of cake down. “Mycroft, what are you going to do?”

“If you ask me that question again Gregory, I will answer it. So think very carefully if you would actually like to know the intricacies of the plan I have laid out for the next few days. Or, would you be content with the reality that I am doing my utmost to act in Leander’s best interests? And yes, I am also striving to protect you from falling on your own sword when it is not nearly as necessary as you believe it to be.”

“Croft—”

“Do you trust me, Gregory?”

“You know I do.”

“Do you trust me as far as this?”

“Just because I’d like to have some idea about what’s going on so I can help doesn’t mean I don’t trust you, Mycroft. I’m in your house. My boy is asleep upstairs in one of your bedrooms. I ignore cases when you tell me they’re something I need to keep my nose out of. I trust you when Sherlock is dashing about like a crazy person and you tell me that he’s not high, that it’s just him. That’s all the areas of my life that are important to me, Mycroft, and I trust you in all of them, all of the time. I don’t know how I can make my faith in you any clearer.”

“Sometimes it is simply nice to hear the words.”

For all that Mycroft would claim to know and predict Gregory down to his very bones, there were still moments like this one where Gregory stunned him. He stepped around the little table and dropped to his knees before Mycroft, pressing the Sentinel’s legs open and settling himself in the crux of Mycroft’s thighs. He looked up at Mycroft with those warm brown eyes and declared with all the fervency that made even Sherlock listen, “I trust you.”


	8. Chapter 8

Despite a little hiccup where Mycroft told Lee to imagine controlling his senses with a dial and Lee had asked, “What’s a dial?” their first morning together went rather well. And not just because Mycroft had been forced to pretend like he knew anything at all about video games to modify the analogy. Lee had happily been ‘altering the difficulty rating’ on his senses ever since, so it seemed there was nothing at all that Mycroft couldn’t fake when he thought it was worth his while.

Mycroft handled the brunt of Lee’s training himself, with Anthea tapping away at a sleek laptop and appearing not to pay a speck of attention to the Sentinel business going on before her. Every so often she would reach out and run a hand over Lee’s hair, calming his irritation as he arched into her touch. Lycius roamed in and out of the room at regular intervals, like he’d added stopping by and adding a comment to his security rounds. Greg, however, had nothing of value to add to this conversation, so he settled for a rare Friday morning full of scones, pajamas, and teasing away the irritation of the two most important fellows in his life before they could turn to a full-blown scuffle. 

It was, all in all, a perfectly lovely morning, right up until Anthea handed over Mycroft’s mobile with a pinch-lipped frown and declared that it was Lady Smallwood. “The woman herself, sir.” 

Mycroft didn’t say, “Oh dear,” but Greg was sure he wanted to. Either that or he was thinking about undergoing a personality change into the sort of man who enjoyed cursing. Greg didn’t bother asking who Lady Smallwood was, and he distracted Lee with questions about to keep his boy from voicing his own pinch-lipped frown at Mycroft for answering the phone while they were talking. 

Of course, Lee couldn’t be put off for long and crawled up beside Greg to tuck himself against his side after Greg explained, “Croft is going to have to go into work.”

“But he said that he was taking the day off.”

“And I’m sure he’ll do his best to get back as soon as he can, but Mycroft’s got a very important job and he can’t always take a day off when he wants to.”

“But you never go back to work when you’re with me.”

“Because there are a bunch of other inspectors who can cover things when I’m not in rotation, and it helps that I’m all the way out of the country. If I was still in London I bet there would have been plenty of times that they would have called me back to help deal with something when I was supposed to be with you.”

“Isn’t Mycroft some kind of a big deal?”

“A very big deal, love.” 

“Doesn’t that mean he can tell people no, he doesn’t want to come in?”

“I’m afraid it means the opposite, Leander.” Mycroft interrupted. Because of course he could carry on a conversation with another terrifying government official while he eavesdropped on Greg. “As they would drag your father back to work because he is the best of their detectives, they summon me for quite similar reasons. On another day I might request that I could simply conduct business from my home office, but given our current set of circumstances I believe it would be best for me to remain in the good graces of my employers in case a favor must be called later on.”

“So you have to go back to work in case someone turns up for me.”

“No. Rather, the Centre are the ones attempting to drag my employers into this scuffle and it is better for me to clearly be the one attempting to keep them out of affairs which ought not be any of their concern. It is the Centre’s faulty decision making, Leande. We simply must bear the burden of fixing it. A circumstance that you should accustom yourself to since you will undoubtedly experience it for much of your life.” 

“You mean like when Emile screwed up his part of the group project and I had to redo the whole thing myself?”

“Precisely.” Even for a morning at home Mycroft had dressed in his suit and waistcoat, so he was ready to go mere moments later after he donned his jacket. Greg maneuvered Lee towards the kitchen under the guise of hunting down cookies and met Mycroft down in the garage.

Mycroft hooked the umbrella over his arm as he stepped out of the lift and said, “Lycius will be staying with you—”

“Like hell he will. Lee and I will be sitting nice and safe inside your house, your head of security should be with you.”

“I will have Anthea, Gregory. And no one is going to make any attempts on me.”

“And no one is going to be stupid enough to come after us when we’re inside your house. Your name will be protection enough. We’ll just the lock the door and we’ll be fine.”

“I would prefer knowing that you both have an added layer of security.”

“We’ve got the best security in the world, Croft. We’ve got Basil scolding whoever turns up at the front door.” Mycroft looked ready to just tell Greg he was agreeing and then leave Lycius in the garage, but Greg stepped in close. “We’ll be fine, Mycroft. We’ll be safe here, and I’d rather spend my day knowing that you’ll be safe no matter what trick they pulled to talk Lady Smallwood into getting you out of the house.”

“Lady Smallwood is not often one for being tricked.”

“And that’s what makes me nervous. Take Lycius with you.”

Mycroft gave a sigh that would’ve fit Sherlock in one of his stroppier moods, but he agreed. Anthea slid into the back of Mycroft’s car with a pointed look that Greg figured was meant to remind him to be on his guard and call her if there was any trouble – as if he needed reminding. Lycius climbed into the driver’s seat with the smirk he always wore when Greg managed to talk Mycroft into something, and the man himself stepped to the car with nothing more than a little nod of acknowledgment. 

So of course, Greg snagged Mycroft by the tail of his finely pressed suit and hauled him in for a quick kiss on the cheek before he pushed him back on his way. “Have a nice day at work, dear.” Mycroft tried to glower, but the blush really undercut his attempt. He settled into the car with a huff and no comeback.

Despite appearances to the contrary, Greg had been paying attention during Lee’s lessons. So he’d planned on spending the rest of the morning in Mycroft’s pool. He’d rather take Lee out to the park, but that would be stupidity in it’s highest form. Instead, he thought they could make sure Lee’s skin wouldn’t mind the water – which had to be full of the most Sentinel-friendly chemicals on the market if Holmes used it – and then wear Lee out with their pathetic attempts at swimming. They probably wouldn’t last an hour, but then there’d be an early lunch and maybe a nap. With any luck at all, Mycroft would be home before they woke up. 

Of course, Greg should have known by now never to pin his hopes on luck. Before he even had the chance to ask Lee if he wanted to try on the suit that had appeared in the closet of his room along with every other speck of the boy’s clothing that Greg had at his flat, Basil slipped into the room and announced that there was a Miss Isabelle Collet at the front door. Bless his heart, the butler tried to do it sotto voce to keep Lee from hearing. Greg had a split second to regret that he’d sworn to Mycroft up and down that they would be completely fine and he had nothing to worry about before Lee went running for the front door. 

“Sir,” Basil sighed. 

“I know, Bas. She won’t hurt us, but maybe send Anthea a text message so the great and powerful Mr. Holmes won’t be mad at us for not telling him that something was up?”

“Allowing her in the front door is already going to result in plentiful problems for the both of us, Inspector Lestrade.”

“Well, if we’re going to be hung for the goose, might as well go for the gander.”

“That is not the phrase.” 

“I know.”

“Da! Mum’s here!” Lee’s call echoed through the whole house before Greg could keep trying to crack Basil out of his disappointed glower. If Basil had his way, he would have gone straight back to the front door and apologized to Miss Collet, but it seemed that Mr. Lestrade had gone out. Had there not been a baby Sentinel practicing his gifts in the house, that’s probably exactly what Basil would have done. Even now he’d rather have reeled Lee back to the kitchen and told her to go away, damn the impoliteness. But Lee had blown that option all to hell. 

Instead, Lee had dragged Izzy and her two bodyguards – undoubtedly a Sentinel and Guide pair – into the sitting room and was rambling to his mother every detail of his life that had happened in the 24 hours since he’d seen her last. “But then Sherlock – and he’s just like Da said he’d be, Mum. He got so upset when Dad said he might be wrong about something last night that he stormed out before cake. Cake! He brought Da and I here to see Croft, and Croft has been teaching me all about how to use my senses. And he’s a bit like Sherlock, but I like him anyway.”

Ah, there it was. Part of Greg had been hoping that the team wouldn’t respond to the nickname, but they had the same little startle that it seemed everyone in the Sentinel community got when they heard Mycroft referred to as anything less than Sentinel Holmes, or Mister if you were feeling quite cheeky. 

While their attention was devoted elsewhere, Greg took in the pair. Greg let Lee’s ramble go on, ready to head him off in case he was about to reveal something he shouldn’t, but while to Greg it was nothing more than a long list of all the things Mycroft had managed to teach him in less than a day, to the Guide it was worth grabbing his Sentinel’s wrist and squeezing so hard that Greg would be stunned if he didn’t end up with bruises. It seemed that either any information at all about Mycroft Holmes was to be met with shock and awe, or the Sentinel wanted to shake Lee until he understood he was praising the devil. (It was, perhaps unsurprisingly, a facial expression that was common on people when you had nice things to say about the Holmes boys.)

Aside from their stunned reactions, the pair were in their 50’s, and judging by their unfashionably short haircuts both men had spent enough time in the military that it was ingrained in them now. Neither man had that over-muscled look that movie Sentinels often had, and if Greg had passed them on the street he wouldn’t have taken them for anything other than posh and European. All of which meant that this pair wasn’t meant as a power play since neither of them would be able to intimidate Greg into anything. 

That meant one of two things. Either Daniel Collet was so genuinely concerned for his daughter and grandson’s welfare that he had petitioned the Paris Centre to send along a free pair to keep her safe and check in on him. 

Also, perhaps Greg would look out the window and sky would be orange and Sherlock would ring him to apologize for being an ass. 

So option two: Greg was alone with a Sentinel/Guide pair who didn’t need to show off their power because they actually had it. If Greg could manage to research without raising any red flags, he’d guess that there were currently two members of the Paris Sentinel/Guide Council standing gobsmacked in Mycroft’s sitting room. 

“And Mycroft’s work called him and told him they needed him to come in. And I’m trying not be mad, because Da said that Croft has an important job and if they said he needed to come in, then he really needed to come in, it was important. But we were going to spend the morning working on my senses, and Lyc said that after that I could try talking Mycroft into letting us get in the pool.” Greg had a spare second to catch the glance the Guide sent to his Sentinel at ‘Lyc.’ Though whether it was a subdued reaction at calling the head of the British Government’s security force by a nickname, or the healthy fear that everyone should have of Lycius, Greg couldn’t tell. He might have puzzled it out, but Lee had finished his story and both son and mother turned their twin gazes on Greg. 

It didn’t matter how much they’d hurt one another or how much time had passed, Greg would always feel a zing of attraction when he saw Isabelle. They’d met in the aftermath of a murderous party, where Greg had the thankless task of interviewing two dozen captains of industry, their paramours, and various hangers-on. Navigating the subsequent sea of lawyers had nearly been enough to send Greg into early retirement. 

All except for Isabelle, who had met Greg at his office rather than insist that he come to her flat, and had done it without a lawyer because, “The victim was my friend, Mr. Lestrade. I want to help you find his killer.” The night the case had closed Greg had done the polite thing for the woman who’d looked at him across his desk with red eyes and a strong chin, and told her that they’d caught her friend’s killer. She’d thanked Greg and asked him if he had time for a nightcap. 

Dunderhead that he was, Greg had thought it was just her wanting to talk to someone about the good times with her friend – he’d been murdered by his male lover’s wife in a tangled web of closeted sexuality and supplemented income that had taken Greg chart to make sense out of. Isabelle had met him at the hotel bar, taken one mouthful of her fancy French wine, and told Greg that she had a room upstairs. 

Greg had told her sleeping with the family and friends of victims was against his ethics. Isabelle had come back whip quick and told him that it wasn’t. She had her lawyers check Scotland Yard’s code of conduct and with the case closed she was just another citizen. He’d downed his scotch in one swallow and claimed personal ethics, not professional. “I don’t want you waking up in the morning and feeling worse than you do right now just because you want to say thank you.”

She’d raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow and said, “I say thank you with money, Mr. Lestrade.”

“I wouldn’t accept that either.” 

Isabelle had huffed at being denied what she wanted and hauled Greg in for a toe-curling kiss before she left him sitting at the bar, trying to feel good about his life choices. Three months later – almost to the minute, he’d later realize – she called him halfway through a beast of case and asked if it had been enough time for him to meet her at the hotel, or was he still hiding his appetites behind the thin veneer of British stoicism? Greg had spent the day knee deep in dismembered bodies, so when he should’ve said no, he said he had four hours before forensics got back to him. She gave him a room number.

Greg had learned the hard way not to make decisions when he was furious about a case, but he couldn’t make himself regret this particular stupidity. He’d told himself the whole cab ride to the hotel that he was just going to talk. He was going to apologize for leading her on, and tell her that he shouldn’t be sleeping with anyone when he had bodies on the brain, but then she’d opened the door naked. Greg had slammed the door shut, turned around, and taken her up against it.

Three and half pleasurable hours later he’d been pulling his trousers up and thanking her for an excellent evening when she declared, “I think you should call me Izzy.” He’d nearly tripped over his own feet twisting around to look at her laid out on the bed, chin resting on her hand and watching Greg get dressed like it was just as enjoyable as watching the reverse. Her hair was a tangled mess from his fingers and he could track the irritated skin across her body from where his stubble had rubbed her a bit too harsh. 

Needless to say, Greg had been late to the crime lab. 

He’d met a three-year-old Lee two weeks later, and despite a prior marriage, Greg had finally understood what it meant to fall in love. 

Greg had known before he met Lee that he wasn’t going to marry the boy’s mother. The sex was amazing, but Greg was a long-term commitment sort of fellow, while Greg was pretty sure that when Izzy was in Paris in between their weekends that she was with someone else. As both of his ex-spouses knew, Gregory Lestrade didn’t tolerate cheating. Isabelle had given him a smile that in hindsight was dangerously similar to Sherlock’s, ‘Aren’t your pathetic little brains so amusing’ grin, and told Greg that she wanted him to meet Leander anyway. 

And so their relationship had begun, consisting of spectacular co-parenting and wonderful sex when Greg was in between partners, though Izzy hadn’t cared so much about that particular boundary. (Greg had been well-practiced in not asking questions he didn’t want the answer to when he met Sherlock.) There were years of history between them, coupled with that unique understanding that came from sharing a child and knowing that out of all the men in the world – including the biological father who Izzy would never stop being in love with – she’d chosen him to be the one that Lee called Da. That was at the forefront of Greg’s mind when he looked at them together, not the pair still staring at Lee like he was telling them he’d been to Neverland, not the severe bun and the shade of red lipstick that Greg knew Isabelle used when she wanted to strike terror into the hearts of men, and not the classical striped pattern that could only belong to Mycroft that was on the sofa they were sharing. 

“Hey, Iz.” He sighed and dropped down on Lee’s other side, letting the boy prop his back against Greg’s side and tuck his toes under his Mum’s thigh. 

“Hey?” 

Ah, so it seemed the hair was meant for him. “Lee, see if Basil can bring us some tea will you?”

“But, Da!”

“And crank down your hearing. We need to have to have one of those grownup conversations.” 

Lee groaned. “All you’ve been having is grownup conversations.” 

“I’ll try and cut them down for the rest of the day, then. But this one was scheduled before you objected so it doesn’t count.” 

Lee slid off the coach with a pitiful groan and slumped his way out the room as if his parents would get impatient and start talking where he could hear. The second he cleared the door Isabelle hissed out, “Hey?” 

“What did I do?”

“You didn’t think to tell me my son had run away from home?”

“I called you last night and left you a message! You didn’t pick up.”

“Why didn’t you call me immediately?”

“Lee told you. I was a bit busy trying to Guide him at the time, and afterwards I passed out. When I woke up I found out what was really going on and I called you. I’m sorry that I didn’t do it immediately, but Sherlock said we had to get him out of the Yard right then before the Centre tried to take him into custody. Then it was just trying to keep him from hurting because of his senses, and I admit, I didn’t think about calling you until halfway through dinner. And I apologize for that. I’d have lost my mind in your shoes and I shouldn’t have done it to you.” 

“Forgiven.” Isabelle gave his hand a squeeze. But unfortunately before they could continue their conversation and get safely past the point of yelling before Lee rushed back into the room, Greg had to step in between the Sentinel/Guide pair and the door. 

At least they had enough sense not to take off directly after Lee, but they seemed to think edging into Greg’s blind spot before they went for the door was the right way to sneak. “He’s fine, you don’t need to follow him.”

“We have been charged with Sentinel Collet’s protection, Sir.”

“Charged by whom?”

They glanced to Izzy, who was too busy staring at the spot where Greg had been sitting to distract him. Finally the Guide answered. “The Paris Council, Sir.” 

“And did the British government give you permission to unnecessarily invade someone else’s home while you’re doing that?”

“Sentinel Collet’s protection—”

“Do you know where you are?”

The question knocked them off their puffed up, self-righteous feet. “Sir?”

“Do you know where you are?”

“London?” The Guide answered, thoroughly confused.

“More specifically.”

“We are in the home of Sentinel Mycroft Holmes.” The other Sentinel snapped.

“Exactly. Do you mean to tell me that you think there’s a threat to Lee in Mycroft Holmes’s house? Enough of a threat that you feel comfortable roaming through his home without his permission?”

“Comfortable is certainly not the word I would use for it, no.” 

“Let’s be honest, you both ought to be thrilled that you were allowed in the front door. And now you’re trying to snoop?”

“We’re trying to—”

“No you’re not. Lee is fine and you and your magical ears know he’s fine. Protection isn’t your goal here, invading privacy is. And I think you should stop and think for a moment about the man whose privacy you’re trying to invade before you do it.” 

“That would be a particularly intelligent thing to do.” Basil said, standing in the doorway and glowering at them for their bad behavior. Mrs. Brim stood behind him, her hands on Lee’s shoulders, ready to haul him back into the barricade of her kitchen. 

“Don’t worry. I’ve got it, Bas.”

“Unfortunately Inspector, it is not your responsibility to ‘have it.’ I have been charged with the maintenance of Mr. Holmes’s home and with the care of his guests. These gentlemen are violating the peace and privacy of this house and it is time for them to leave.”

“Sir.” The Guide placated, but Basil wasn’t having any of it.

“Young man, exercise the small amount of common sense that your creator gave you and ask yourself precisely what sort of man Mycroft Holmes would trust to leave in charge of his house.”

“Do you know who we are?” The Sentinel objected, and Greg was done indulging them.

“I don’t give a shit who you are. Basil has the legal right to kick you out of this house and now you’re trespassing.”

“We have been entrusted with Sentinel Collet’s safety.”

“By who? Izzy doesn’t want you here.”

“Mr. Collet asked us—”

“And since when do grandfathers have that kind of legal right over a minor?”

“The Council—”

“Has no authority in this country, and certainly not in this house. Now, Basil asked you to leave and if you continue to ignore his wishes, I’m going to have to take you into custody.”

“You can’t arrest us!”

“Mate, you came into Mycroft Holmes’s house uninvited. Me arresting you would be a mercy.”

The Sentinel looked half a beat away from losing his temper with Greg, but his Guide got there first. “Do you ever feel ashamed for relying on your lover’s name to get things done?”

But Greg had been tormented by far superior men than this one. “Not a damn bit. I learned a long time ago that pride is a stupid thing to care about when there’s work to be done. Now, get yourselves out of this house.”

“He’ll leave you, you know. No matter how many Guides he surrounds himself with to fill the ache, he’ll have to bond eventually or he’ll die.” 

“He seems like he’s doing fine to me.” Greg knew what was coming without needing to look. Lee slammed into Greg’s back, wrapping his arms around Greg’s waist and burying his face in the small of his father’s back. “Now you’ve gone and scared the Sentinel you’re supposed to be protecting, so you’re not only trespassing, you’re incompetent. I’d get the hell out and find my way to a plane before Mycroft tracks you down.” 

Lee had never been the kind of kid who tried to wrangle his parents back together. He’d rather that Greg lived next door than in another country, but he was happy with their family just as it was. Despite that, he’d always been fiercely territorial over Greg dating, just in case they tried to make a family with Greg that tried to supplant the one he had with Lee. Apparently, despite all of the talking about Sentinel matters, Lee had just been forced to put together that Mycroft being a Sentinel meant that common wisdom said that someday he’d need a Guide, and that Guide couldn’t be Greg. Greg didn’t know exactly what Mycroft had told Lee about their friendship, but all Lee knew was that the one Sentinel he knew was going to walk away and leave them. Parenting a baby Sentinel was proving to be hard enough without people ripping apart whatever small amount of stability Lee had managed to gather. 

“When authorized Council personnel have a reasonable suspicion that there is a threat to someone in the Sentinel and Guide community they have rights guaranteed by the UN to interfere in the situation and protect our people, despite the objections of local law enforcement. You have no right to stop us from protecting the little Alpha as an Inspector, and you have no authority over the child to banish us from his presence. You’re his mother’s ex-boyfriend, not his father. Even if Ms. Collet wanted to be rid of us, we would challenge that dismissal because she lacks the necessary information to make an informed decision about her son’s safety.”

“Oh you will, will you?” Izzy had been content to let Greg handle the arguing while she puzzled out whatever it was that had her brow furrowed. The pair had been too busy to notice that she’d solved her conundrum and was glowering at them in a way that would make Basil proud. Both the Sentinel and Guide flinched under the force of it before they tried to back peddle, but she dismissed them with a wave of her hand. “I didn’t get a message from you, G.”

“My call didn’t go through?” Before the words even crossed his lips he knew how stupid they were. 

“I think someone helped it get lost.” Isabelle rose from the sofa, sharp heels making her as tall as Mycroft so she could loom down at the men before her. “While I sat there terrified for my son, I was told a whole litany of horrors about this Mycroft Holmes seducing you into turning over my son. I might have believed some of it if they hadn’t overshot and impugned your honor with the gossip. But the longer you didn’t call, the more that tiny seed of doubt had room to grow and I might have bought into it. 

“Now, the two of you are going to come with me and we’re going to figure out who the hell in your organization thought they had the right to wind me up and send me off to do their dirty work. If I’d come in here screaming and demanding like you wanted me to we’d be gone already and in your care that I doubt you’d ever let us leave. I do so hate being manipulated. You’ll keep Leander with you, of course.” 

“Promise. And I’ll keep calling.”

“Excellent. I’m sure your Mr. Holmes has a method or two that will actually get the message through.” Izzy raised her eyebrow at him, so Greg knew he was going to get grilled about Mycroft as soon as things settled enough for gossip. 

“It wouldn’t surprise me if he did.” 

Isabelle dropped a quick hug and a kiss on her son, delivering both as best as she was able since he kept one arm around Greg. Then she swept out the front door, dragging the pair behind her through sheer force of personality. The closing snap of the front door echoed like a gunshot through room. Lee smooshed his face back against Greg and grumbled. “I kind of want to take a nap.”

“Me too, kid. Me too.”


	9. Chapter 9

Greg didn’t want to use the word furious to describe Mycroft since that seemed a little sacrilegious, but it was damn accurate. He’d called to tell Mycroft that he’d resolved things with Izzy and no one needed to fret or rush home from work. Stony silence had been his only answer, and to head off a blood feud from which Greg honestly wasn’t sure whether Isabelle or Mycroft would emerge the winner, Greg gave him a blow by blow of the entire conversation. When Mycroft’s response was yet more silence, Greg had mentally scrambled for something to defuse the situation that he could feel ticking down in his hands. 

“Lee and I are going to use that fancy pool you’ve got downstairs. We’re both pants swimmers though, so the next phone call may be about how we almost drowned in your basement.”

There was a beat of quiet and then, “I have security cameras throughout the house, Gregory.” 

Which meant Mycroft already knew exactly what had happened in his sitting room, and had probably watched it in real time. Instead of commenting on the egregious violation of privacy – which he found more comforting than he probably should since he knew better than anyone about the unreliability of eyewitness testimony – Greg asked, “Does it count as a lifeguard on duty when you’re doing it through cameras?” 

“I assure you Gregory, if I was watching you half naked and wet, it wouldn’t be for security purposes.” 

“Half naked and wet with my kid, Croft.”

“Yes, that would put a damper on things. I’ll be returning home after my next meeting. Do try and keep the child who is under my protection from answering the front door this time, if you please.” 

Were Greg a different man, he would’ve spent the afternoon stewing at Mycroft for daring to tell him how to protect his own son. And for thinking that it might be best to keep a boy away from his mother just because she might upend Mycroft’s carefully constructed plans. However, a different man wouldn’t be in this situation. The sensitive type would’ve broken after the first encounter with Sherlock. He would’ve been eviscerated like so many others back in the days when Sherlock was still using. As it was, Greg spent a few minutes watching his boy bound around the house. By the time Lee took a reckless flying leap into the pool, Greg was past whatever anger he might have managed and gone straight on into bemusement. 

It was nice to be the object of some Mycroft Holmes style fussing, and to Greg there was no point in smashing his head up against the reality that no matter what he did Mycroft would just go on doing as he had always done. To pretend otherwise was just setting himself up to be disappointed, and Greg had enough of that in the areas of his life that he couldn’t control. He didn’t need to start borrowing trouble to keep him company. 

Of course, trouble came for them anyway in the form of a Mycroft Holmes who did not look nearly as pleased at the sight of a wet, half-naked Greg as he said he’d be. In fact, Mycroft looked downright embarrassed. 

That might be because the seeing was preceded by Lee popping out of the water like a meerkat and flailed out of the water and up the stairs before Greg could heave his own bulk to the pool’s edge. He slipped up the steps as he scrambled after Lee, sliding over the puddles Lee left behind in his mad dash, and scattering his own little lakes across Mycroft’s wooden floors as he followed. 

By the time he caught up, Lee had put himself between Mycroft and his guests who had barely stepped into the front hall. Lee looked like a wild thing, bearing his crooked baby teeth at the two men and trying to force Mycroft down the hall, pressing his back to Mycroft’s front and soaking his fine suit. The curly-haired fellow had his palms out, slowly advancing on Lee and murmuring words of cold comfort. The big guy pressed his back against the door, trying to give Lee every inch of room he could.

Greg didn’t get a chance to shout before Mycroft and the big guy both lifted their focus from Lee. There was a beat of silence before Curly sighed, “Well, shit.” Then everything went to hell. Curly caught Lee about the waist and hauled Greg’s snarling, snapping son off his feet and swung him out of the way while Big dove for Mycroft with a burst of speed he shouldn’t have had. 

Greg shoved down the paternal part of him that demanded he dive in and save them both with his own two fists. But he’d trained that urge out of him and he trusted that Mycroft could hold his own for a moment. He hauled ass into Mycroft’s study. He ripped the map of Roman Britain off the wall and slammed his hand against the biometric lock he exposed. 

Sitting on the bottom shelf was a Glock 17, the same make and model as the one Greg carried when things got bloody at work. If he used it, the serial number would send up flags at MI-5, and any questions about the shooting would get disappeared under Official Secrets. Greg didn’t think about any of that. Nor did he ask where in the hell Lycius and Anthea were. He just grabbed the gun, slammed in the cartridge, chambered a round, and burst back into the hall. “Hands up!” 

Lee, in a mark of good parenting, was snapping at Curly’s skin as he struggled. Mycroft and Big were grappling on the floor in a tangle of blue jeans and wool. “Daddy!”

“You heard me assholes, drop my boy and get the hell away from Croft!”

“Croft?”

Of course, it wasn’t the firearm that did anything, it was calling Mycroft Holmes by a nickname. The two men startled, and that was all the room Mycroft needed to elbow Big away and Lee to slam his little head back into Curly’s face. Neither of them made it far. Curly snapped, “Stop this,” and all three Sentinels melted. 

Greg felt his knees go out from the force of he command, but he caught himself against the wall and kept the gun steady. “Don’t do that! You pull shit like that in this house and I’ll shoot you.”

“Greg, stop threatening to murder the Guide Alpha Prime.” Mycroft grumbled, pushing himself up against the wall and pretending like he didn’t have carpet burns on his cheek. 

“I don’t give a shit who he is. He’s hurting my son.”

“I’m not hurt, Da.” Curly let Lee go this time and he hopscotched over the two Sentinels. Greg tugged Lee behind him and kept the gun where it was. 

“You were biting him.” 

“In his defense,” Curly interrupted, “Leander is currently in a delicate state, and it’s almost impossible for him to have come across a Sentinel who poses a threat to the leader of his pride in the short time that he’s been online. It’s a territorial reaction that we all get from time to time, it’s just bad luck that the first time he experienced it involves such high-powered Sentinels to exacerbate the issue.” 

“Mycroft?”

“Blair is correct. Leander had a poor reaction to my bringing home the Alpha Prime pair and he attempted to protect me from what he saw as a threat.”

“So why the fight?”

“Mister Lestrade, are you aware that you’re bleeding?” Adrenaline had carried Greg through the house and into armed conflict, but the moment Curly – Blair apparently – pointed it out, Greg realized that all along he’d been feeling the sharp pain of a gash on his shin, and the trickling wetness wasn’t dripping from his swim trunks, it was blood.

“Why does that matter?” 

Mycroft cleared his throat as Blair opened his mouth, and Greg could almost see the man shifting to a more polite answer. “You’re family to them both. Blood exacerbated the situation.” 

Greg flicked on the gun’s safety. “So you mean that Mycroft Holmes lost his cool.”

“Yes, yes he did.” Blair sounded like he couldn’t decide if he was amused or horrified by the idea. 

“All right, the two of you get yourselves off the floor before I have to tell Sherlock that you were brawling in the hall.” Greg dragged Lee up the stairs to get dressed, stopping just long enough to drop the gun back off.

Blair and Mycroft were having a whispered argument when Greg and Lee stepped back in, a fight that cut out the second Greg got in hearing range. Big, however, had sprawled on the couch and was watching the both of them. Rather than waste time asking what they’d been talking about, Greg asked where in the hell Mycroft’s security was.

Blair jumped in to explain. “I’m friend, not foe. And most Guides would rather avoid a confrontation with me unless they absolutely can’t, even ones like Lycius and Anthea.”

“Which leaves my son alone with would-be kidnappers.” Lee pressed himself close against Greg’s side. He had refused to remain upstairs, but he also couldn’t make himself cross the doorway into the room.

“I came home with Ellison and Sandburg, Gregory. I left Anthea to handle the aftermath of my meeting and Lycius is seeing her home safely.” 

“I thought the deal was that he sees you safely places.”

“And I thought you weren’t going to open the front door. Apparently we were both mistaken.”

“So coming home like that was payback?”

“Stop!” Blair snapped, his attention firmly on Lee who’d burrowed a bit closer. “Greg, if you get any angrier you’re going to send both Lee and Mycroft feral and that’s the last thing we need right now.”

“What’s this ‘we’ nonsense?”

“I’m sorry about the lack of introductions, things have been a bit hectic for Mycroft to be as polite as he usually is. I’m Blair Sandberg and this is my Sentinel, Jim Ellison. We’re the Primes of North America and we’re here to put at least the three of you on a place to Washington state and get you to our Center.”

“We need to flee the country?” Greg croaked. Lee whimpered and Greg ran a soft hand through his hair. 

“Yes.”

“No.” Mycroft had looked three quarters of the way to asleep before, but now he snapped up straight.

“The Paris Centre has petitioned the UN for custody, Mycroft! They’re threatening to indict you for kidnapping and they’re trying to declare the mother incompetent and an enemy of our people for hiding the boy from his father!”

“I’m his father. And I thought you said he’d try to keep anyone from finding out paternity for as long as possible.”

Greg asked the question of Mycroft, but Sandberg answered. “The Centre doesn’t know specifically who the father is, but they know he must be a powerful Sentinel for Lee to be like he is. The list of potential birth fathers is already short and common sense narrows the options even further.”

“They won’t succeed in their suit, Blair.”

“They don’t need to succeed, Mycroft, they just need to get you out of the way long enough to get what they want.”

“If you honestly believe that the British government would allow—”

“You got called into work today, Mycroft! And everyone knew about it! The personnel we brought repelled half a dozen attempts to breech your security just in the short time you were out. They don’t have to win, Mycroft, they just need to make you look in the wrong direction for long enough.”

“What makes you believe the government wouldn’t do it’s best to be on Mycroft’s side?” Lestrade asked. 

Blair glanced over the Mycroft, who just made his way off the couch and over to the drinks cart and left Blair to handle his own defense. “The government would rather Mycroft have nothing to focus on, but their interests. They don’t mind Mycroft having an oversight role in our community, but if he were actually to take the place that he ought to amongst our people, then they’d lose their minds. They deem his passel of Guides acceptable because they help him stay in control of his senses, and they’re all government employees themselves. But a baby Sentinel that Mycroft is training, and a romantic relationship with his trainee’s father presents the kind of connection that they find unforgivably compromising.” 

“We’re not in a relationship.”

Blair’s eyebrows nearly rose straight off his face in obvious disbelief. “Factual or not, all of the involved parties believe it. The British Council wants to control Lee and Mycroft is in the way of that. While his influence will be missed, the majority of the Council will be thrilled that they will no longer have to measure themselves against him. At the same time, the British government would rather Lee be shipped off to anyplace that isn’t here so that Mycroft won’t take any more days off of work. The two entities that Mycroft was planning on being able to utilize are at odds with one another. While they’re busy fighting, Mycroft will be trapped in the middle and France will run off with Leander. Then the moment you leave this house one of the three parties will take you and use you against the both of them. If you get on the plane to America we can control the situation and pull off a solution that ends up with no one getting abducted or blackmailed.”

“No one is going to get blackmailed.” Mycroft interrupted. “And no one is going to flee the country.”

“If you had any sense at all you’d decide to come with us now while it would still be leaving rather than fleeing!”

“All of you shut up before I go get my gun again!” Greg’s voice cut through the ruckus just as efficiently as Sandberg’s, for all it came just from years of yelling at junior officers rather than any empathetic gifts. “Start discussing this like civilized people. I don’t care who you are, you don’t shot in front of children.” Lee had buried his face in the small of Greg’s back and was shaking like a leaf at the harsh assault to his senses and the emotional torrent that he had to feel spilling over him. Coming from the most powerful Guide on the planet and a man Lee had accepted as probably one of the most emotionally level people he’d ever met, it must have been horrible. 

All three men visibly got themselves back in line and Greg called for Basil to bring them some tea. He let Lee take a handful of cookies before he tried to send his son off to the kitchen. Of course, Lee glowered despite the crumbs already littering his face and shirt. “I’m not leaving you alone with them.”

“They won’t hurt me.”

“He stopped Croft! That means they can hurt you!”

“I won’t do it again unless things get out of hand, Lee. You have my word.”

“You word doesn’t mean shit.”

“Lee!” 

“Breathe, Leander.” Mycroft interrupted. “You know what you’ve seen Alpha Sandberg do, now tell me what you’ve observed.” 

“That he stopped all of us dead in our tracks and he says he’d do it again!”

“Why did he stop us all, Leander?” 

“Because he’s an asshole.” Lee grumbled.

Greg dropped his face in his hands and groaned out a half-hearted, “Language.”

“It’s true!”

“It is, in fact, not true, Leander. You have enough control over your empathy to perfectly be able to tell that Alpha Sandberg has no nefarious intentions and his heart rate remained even when he promised that he would refrain from using his Guide Voice on our party unless it was absolutely necessary. Correct?” Lee started at his bare feet, refusing to meet Mycroft’s eyes. “Correct, Leander?”

Lee didn’t bother opening his mouth, but he gave a small bob of his head. “So the next question you must ask yourself is, what are the circumstances under which Alpha Sandberg would deem his psionic intervention justifiable? And what is the best way to determine those circumstances?”

“The circumstances that he used in the past.” Lee grumbled. 

“Precisely. Now, why would Alpha Sandberg have felt the need to intervene in our prior conversation?”

“Because we started fighting!”

“Really, Leander? Is that precisely what you observed happening?”

“Yes! He didn’t pull out the Voice until after his Sentinel attacked you!”

“All right, then why did his Sentinel attack me? And do not respond with a curse.”

“I don’t know, Mycroft! I don’t know!”

“Hey, it’s all right.” Greg had been, not content, but agreeable enough about Mycroft carrying on the same kind of logical questioning that he’d used all morning on Lee. Greg was a firm believer that people understood best the things that they learned for themselves, so he agreed with Mycroft’s tactic to force Lee to puzzle out all his new senses for himself rather than just telling him what everything meant. But Lee had been on an emotional and physical roller coaster all day, and he was rapidly losing what little a small child ever had of patience.

“Did I move first, or did Alpha Ellison?”

“I don’t know!”

“Mycroft, let him rest.”

“No, Gregory. For all that Blair is overreacting, he does have a point that I have been lax in discussing with Leander. Better he learn it now than when it can be used against him, as I have no doubt will be attempted while we are in this predicament.”

“I’m not stupid Mycroft, I just didn’t see.” Lee gulped out the words, ten seconds away from tears. Greg bundled Lee into his arms, but before Greg could get his feet under him, Mycroft wrapped his arms around them both, cradling one arm around Leander’s head and pressing the palm of his hand to Leander’s forehead. 

“You are the farthest thing from stupid, Leander. I apologize for hurting you, and I apologize for expressing myself so poorly that I could ever make you believe that I consider you unintelligent. I would be the fool to think of you in such a way.”

“Then what were you mad about?” Lee sobbed. 

“I was upset with myself, not with you.”

“Why? You didn’t do anything.” 

“Both of the Alphas were attempting to protect you from me.”

An instant rush of anger is what got Lee to stop crying. “That’s stupid.”

“Not stupid, cautious. Perhaps excessively so, but I cannot fault them for doing their utmost to keep you safe, even from a danger that you don’t acknowledge.”

Lee shimmied one of his arms out from his little cocoon and plastered his palm against Mycroft’s cheek. “You’d never hurt me, Croft.” 

“Never on purpose. But there will always be variables that no one can account properly account for.” 

“And what was the variable here?” Greg asked.

“It was me.” Lee said. “I didn’t want them to be here and I made you mad about it too.”

“I responded negatively to your upset, that is true. And then you responded to me, and I responded to you, and we fed off one another’s distress. Distress that you and I were managing just fine, I would like to point out, perhaps managing a bit too well because it wasn’t until we calmed that I realized your father was bleeding.”

“Wait, you really lost it because I was bleeding?” 

“Of course I did. That’s what Blair told you.”

“I was being sarcastic!” 

“Blair was not.” 

“All right, you need to start explaining things to me in words that a non-Sentinel can understand.”

“You were bleeding, Gregory. My home was invaded by foreign Sentinels as well as the only person on the planet with the legal right to remove Leander from your care, Blair spent the car ride warning me to leave the country, I came back to a house full of foreign scents from those people who ruined my afternoon, Leander was furious, you had a gun in your hand, and you were bleeding.”

It was a whole long list of reasons that took Greg a minute to parse through. “You lost your temper.”

Mycroft shrugged. “You were bleeding.” 

And that… Greg just had to do something entirely inappropriate about that. Greg threaded his fingers through the short hairs at the back of Mycroft’s head and dragged him in for a kiss. It was short and sweet since there was still a child between them, and it took a whole three seconds for Mycroft to realize he was being kissed and response. All too soon Greg released Mycroft with a smile. “I’m all right, Croft. I just slipped on the stairs when I was on my way up to yell at the lot of you.”

“Logically, I understand that. However, I failed to have a logical response to the situation.”

“I know you must have hated that, but I’ve got to say, it’s kind of nice for me.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

“No one got hurt, Croft. And you got a kiss out of it, so maybe chalk today up to a win.”


	10. Chapter 10

Of course, their happy little moment couldn’t last long. A whispered, but not nearly whispered enough, “Stop it, Jim,” interrupted them. 

“We’re kind of on a time table here, Chief.”

“Mycroft Holmes is snuggling, Jim. Yesterday I would’ve told you that was one of the signs of the apocalypse, so we’re not going to interrupt.”

“Hey, I’m all for Mycroft getting non-governmental human contact, but me being happy for him doesn’t change the fact that if we’re going to get them out of here, we have to do it sooner rather than later. The longer we take, the harder it’s going to be to get them on a plane.”

“They already know you’re here, James.” Mycroft rose gracefully from the floor and left Lee to pop up, Greg to overcome his aging knees. 

“Really, my full name? Is that necessary.”

“Using your proper name is a sign of respect.”

“And Mycroft having this argument with you is a way to distract you so you stop pestering him about leaving.” Blair added.

“I know that, but I figured he could use a bit of normalcy today.”

“Sure you did.” Blair rolled his eyes. “Now, can we please discuss the dire need to get out of this situation?”

“I have an escape plan prepared, Blair. I have not made use of it because it is not yet necessary. I know that the Centre is making outlandish claims in order to secure custody, which means they have run out of logical options and have gotten desperate.”

“Desperate people do desperate things, Mycroft.”

“Desperate things that even a small amount of preparation can prevent. The British Centre has no claim to Leander, and neither does the French Centre. Leander is here as part of an arrangement worked out between his parents and at his own request. On paper I am the closest relationship to the Sentinel community found in Leander’s immediate family, and better still, I am one of the few Sentinels in Europe with the capacity to actually train a child of his abilities. Any full-throated attempt by the British and French Centres to overturn this plan would involve ignoring the will of a young Sentinel who will outrank them all in a matter of months, the legal guardianship of his parents, and common sense. Their only justification for such behavior would be a power grab, and that sort of conduct is the kind of thing that would destroy an entire Centre hierarchy.”

For all that Ellison looked like the dumb muscle to Sandberg’s academic intellect, Greg suspected that there was a far more strategic mind at work there. “So to put it impolitely, if either Centre actually succeeds in taking Lee, you’ll ruin them all and upend the entire Sentinel leadership of Europe because it annoyed you.”

“If by annoyance, you mean engaged in the kind of short-sighted self-service that offends me on a molecular level, then yes.”

“And what if they come after Greg?” Sandberg asked.

“Then I will burn them to the ground and use the opportunity to teach Leander the proper way to enact vengeance. Which is a lesson that I am sure he will find valuable throughout the rest of his life.”

“You know, you say things like that Mycroft, and I absolutely believe you.”

“Proof positive that you have more common sense than most individuals I have come across, James.”

“You’d be the first person to think so.”

“Honestly, the two of you. This is not the time for banter. Are you sure about this, Mycroft? This all seems unnecessarily dangerous to me when we could just get on a plane and them all fight things out while you’re safely on another continent.”

“Dangerous, yes. Unnecessary, no. But rest assured, Blair, in the unlikely circumstance that everything goes wrong, I have an escape hatch prepared that will lead us straight to the safety of your front door. You have my word that I will use it when it becomes necessary.”

“I’m concerned that by the time you accept the necessity, it will be too late for us to do anything to help you.”

“If we reach the burn everything to the ground stage,” Greg interrupted, “that’s when Sherlock will start taking care of things.”

“Sherlock?” Blair very nearly shrieked. “Sherlock is your emergency plan?”

“One of them, yes.” Mycroft admitted.

“Hey, Sherlock is reliable.” Greg objected. 

“Sherlock can be relied on to solve puzzles and to piss Mycroft off. Don’t get me wrong, I’m fond of Sherlock and he does good work, but this seems like it’s out of his wheelhouse.” 

Greg snorted. “They’re still brothers. Which means that no one in the world is allowed to be as mean to each of them as they are to each other. And if I have to go into hiding, then Sherlock doesn’t get to work with Scotland Yard anymore. That should be enough personal interest to handle any of your concerns.” 

“This still seems like an unacceptable risk.”

“Arguably the risk these Centres are taking is just as unacceptable, and I am far more willing to rely on my ability to handle this situation than in their ability to upend me.”

“That… is a reasonable belief.” 

“Thank you for your approval.”

“Don’t be snide, Mycroft. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I think we can all agree that snide is one of my more natural states of being.”

“He’s not wrong.” Ellison shrugged. 

“You’re not helping.” 

“We can’t do any good here, Chief. Mycroft seems like he has things in hand, and anytime you and I stay someplace too long people take it as an invitation to come and visit. The longer we hang out in Mycroft’s house the more likely it gets that one of the Councils is going to take it as permission to come right on in.”

“We can’t go back to Washington, Jim! What if everything does go wrong and Mycroft needs us to throw our weight around?”

“I’m not saying we get on a plane again. Actually, I could do with not being on a plane again for a few days. That flight was terrible.”

“Are you suggesting that we just go on vacation?”

“No, I’m suggesting that we tell everyone that we stopped by to talk to Mycroft and get his opinion on this mess. Then we warn them that he’s leaning towards a salt the earth policy and we’re starting to agree with him.”

“Are we starting to agree with him?”

“These assholes are trying to kidnap a kid, Chief. I’m tempted to thump them all until their brains start working again.”

“In my experience it doesn’t matter how hard you hit someone, it doesn’t turn their ethics back on.”

“Well then Mr. Lestrade, you are just not hitting people hard enough.” 

That finally got Lee to giggle. “I probably shouldn’t take that advice on a day when I’m going to be spending time with Sherlock.”

“Actually, I think it’s a perfect day for it, Gregory. After all, you’re one of the few people on the planet that John is unlikely to punish for it.”

“No, I’ll get punished alright. The punishment will just be him having to work at the clinic the next time Sherlock is on a case.”

Ellison and Sandberg were out the door quickly after that. Blair made Greg promise to call them the second things got hairy, not trusting Mycroft with the ability to acknowledge if he might actually need the help. Jim rolled his eyes at the grownups and slipped Lee his number, saying he would answer if Lee decided he wanted another Sentinel’s opinion about something. “Holmes is one of the best, but his approach is a bit brainy for me. Sometimes it’s good to hear how a more physical Sentinel does things so you’ve got some different ideas to handle things.”

Lee would’ve torn up the business card, but Greg nudged him back into politeness. Jim dropped down to one knee before Lee and looked him dead in the eye while he explained. “There’s nothing wrong with Mycroft or the way he does things, kid. He’s a brilliant guy, a damn good Sentinel, and an even better man. It’s not about Mycroft, it’s about how we like to train young Sentinels. Think of it this way: have you ever had a teacher in school who you didn’t understand?”

“You mean, like with an accent?”

“I mean where they explain things to you over and over, but no matter what they say it just doesn’t make sense.”

“Mr. Kepler,” Lee groaned. “My Mom had to get my a tutor because math stopped making sense.”

“For me it was Mrs. Hargrave in writing, only my Mom didn’t get me into a tutor like yours did. Ever since then I’ve been terrible at writing, and I hated doing all the reports I have to do for Sentinel business. For my birthday a few years ago, Blair finally got me this program where I talk into the computer and it types everything up for me.”

“That sounds like a terrible birthday present.” Lee gave Blair a dirty side eye.

“It wasn’t my only present.” Ellison replied, obviously out of habit. Then he remembered he was talking to a kid and fumbled as he tried to move along. “But that’s not really important.”

“What else did he get you?”

“He, uh...”

“It was sex wasn’t it.” Lee grimaced. 

Greg laughed. “Lee, we’ve talked about you asking people about their sex lives.”

“I didn’t ask, he brought up!”

“And I think Alpha Ellison was trying to talk to you about teaching methods when you started asking about birthday presents.” 

Ellison seized the opportunity to move on. “And I’m trying to protect you from terrible birthday presents of your own, and all kinds of other problems. I’m sure Mycroft is an excellent teacher, just like a bunch of other students loved Mrs. Hargrave, and maybe some of your classmates thought Mr. Kepler was great. They weren’t bad teachers and we weren’t bad students, there was just a difference between the way we learned and the way they taught.”

“But I understand everything Mycroft has been teaching me. Even when I get confused about stuff, I can ask him questions and he explains it differently. We’re fine just the way we are.”

“You’re a smart kid and Mycroft is a smart teacher, and that’s the kind of arrangement we love to have for young Sentinels, but different teachers might have different things to show you. Maybe they’ll be useful, or maybe they’ll prove to you that Mycroft’s way of doing things it perfect. But the way I see it, more information never hurt anybody.”

It was such a Holmesian thing to say that Lee immediately agreed to talk, but only if he wasn’t understanding something from Mycroft. Jim called that fair and then offered his goodbyes, not bothering to give any warnings of his own to Mycroft. The goodbyes were a bit longer and more pointless than they needed to be since Lee was analyzing the card in his hand and all four men were waiting to see if he decided that he did, in fact, have a question. 

Whatever was running around Lee’s head, he kept it to himself until the front door shut behind their guests. Then he tucked the card into his back pocket and asked Greg to go into the kitchen. “Croft and I need to have one of those grownup conversations.”

“Ellison hasn’t driven away just yet. I wouldn’t be offended if you asked him your question.”

“I’ll call him later, after I’ve heard what you think. I… I thought I already knew the answer to my question, but I’ve been wrong about a bunch of stuff that I thought was right this week, and I don’t want to do it again.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to be a part of your grownup conversation?” Greg asked.

“Mrs. Brim has cake.” 

“Oh well, if Mrs. Brim has cake.” Greg left Mycroft with a wink and Lee with a kiss to the crown of his head. Lee stayed in the hall until he saw Greg disappear through the door to the kitchen, then turned on his heel and went straight for Mycroft’s study. 

He settled himself in the same chair he’d been offered the first time they sat across from another and asked Mycroft to turn on whatever he did to keep conversations private. Mycroft tapped out the necessary code on the panel next to his door while he mentioned that Greg couldn’t hear them through the regular soundproofing. 

“It’s just in case.” “Lee explained. “I don’t want anyone else to hear it either.”

“No matter which Sentinel or what microphone they have outside, this house is designed to counteract it. In this house you will always have privacy.”

“It’s not for me. It’s for you. Is everyone around you a Guide?”

It said something about his progress over the last few days that Mycroft didn’t have the urge to point out the flaws in Lee’s question. “Not everyone, but I make sure to have a Guide that I trust within shouting distance at all times. While I am at work, Anthea and Lycius fulfill that role. At home, it is Basil.”

“Basil’s a Guide?”

“Indeed. A rather powerful one, in fact. He held Lycius’s position in my uncle’s household, but upon my uncle’s death he retired from public service.”

“I can’t see Lycius taking care of your tea.”

“Nor can I. However, Lycius began his career in the security services, while Basil did not. Upon his retirement I offered him a lovely house on a beach somewhere, but Basil told me that he found the mundane task of running a house soothing in a way that no tropical vacation might attempt to be.”

“What did Basil do before he was your uncle’s security?”

“That is a private matter that you will have to discuss with him. However, I imagine that you were not attempting to discern information about the life histories of the Guides in my employ.”

“Are you going to have to bond with one of them?”

“No.”

“No? Just no?”

“Just no. A bond is unnecessary for me at this point. Had today’s incident gone on a few seconds longer then Basil would have reached out to me and handled things before I lost control and hurt anyone. And as I suppose you are aware, such incidents rarely occur, despite my line of work. Today was simply a confluence of unfortunate events, and even then, Basil would have handled it. He is simply not as quick at Alpha Sandburg, but then, no one is.” 

“But you got upset when you could smell Dad’s blood.”

“That wasn’t because I lacked a Guide, Leander.”

“Then what happened? The Internet said that things like that only happen to Sentinels when they’re not bonded.”

“Leander, are you attempting to encourage me to go out and find a Guide?”

“No! I just… I want to know if you’re going to have to go out and get one.”

“As you’ve lit upon, I already have several Guides who are there to help me in the rare instance when something goes wrong.”

“But you’re not bonded with any of them, are you?”

“Of course not.”

“But the Internet says you have to be bonded to a Guide for them to actually be able to help you.”

“As though the Internet hasn’t failed you several times in this process already.”

“Croft, don’t be a sneak. Are you going to have to bond to somebody someday?”

“No, Leander. All of my needs are perfectly met by the Guides currently in my life. I will not tell you that I am certain that a bond will always be as unnecessary for me as it is now, but I will tell you that I cannot envision a path that would lead to bonding.”

“Did you imagine this?”

“No, I must admit, your father has defied all of my expectations regarding him. Considering that he is the only person in my existence who has ever done so, it seems statistically unlikely to happen again.”

“But it might.”

“Tell me, what really is your concern? Considering all that we have been through these last few days I imagine that you are well aware that there is virtually nothing that would cause me throw you out of my house or our of my life. So tell me what the issue actually is that you are working your way towards.” 

Part of Lee wished that he’d brought himself a piece of cake along for this conversation. “That you might find a Guide that you want and they’ll be more important than me and my dad.”

“Leander,” Mycroft sighed, “I didn’t lose control because my senses went out of balance, and I didn’t do so because I need a Guide. It happened because it was Gregory’s blood.”

“You got upset because my dad was hurt?”

“He was hurt in the circumstances that triggered us both into a negative reaction, but yes, because they were Gregory’s injuries.”

“Wouldn’t you want to get rid of dad if you have a reaction to him like that?” 

“If I were to send you and your father away I would waste an inordinate amount of time wondering if you were both well in my absence.” 

“But wouldn’t a Guide change all that?”

“Leander, I cannot promise that for my present good health that I will never need a Guide in the future. However, I can tell you that every gifted Guide I have met, from Alpha Prime Sandberg all the way down, has warned me that they believe I will never find a Guide to be my perfect match. They consider my disposition as a sign that whoever my Guide was meant to be either went offline or died when I was a child. No person can guarantee their emotional state for the rest of their life, but I can promise you beyond a shadow of a doubt that I cannot comprehend a world in which I would value any Guide more than I value your father.”

“Promise?”

“You have my word, Lee.” 

“But that doesn’t mean everyone else is going to listen to you about that and they’re not going to keep sending Guides your way.”

“One the whole I make Guides uncomfortable. They tend to avoid me when they can. Those that don’t either have the safety of their own Sentinel’s mind to guard them from my presence, or they are desperate enough to hope for a bond that they power through the discomfort.” 

“Why do you make them uncomfortable?”

“I don’t do it deliberately.” 

“I know that. I meant, what about you makes them uncomfortable?”

“I have been reliably informed that my mental presence feels like a midwinter storm. Quite the opposite of the varying degrees of fire that Guides often use to describe Sentinels.”

“But you can’t guarantee you won’t find anyone.”

“You will find, Leander, that nothing in this life can have a guarantee, and anyone who tells you otherwise is lying. However, I can promise you that I will do my utmost, no matter our future circumstances, to prioritize you and your father. Also, I can remind you that my utmost is substantially better than almost anyone else you will ever meet.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: Name fixes for Lee's birth father and his grandfather.

Greg banned all talk of Sentinels for the rest of the evening. Tonight was for baking cookies and terrible movies that Greg probably shouldn’t be watching with his impressionable young son. Today of all days, they’d earned it. And when Mycroft tried to beg off sweets, father and son gave him such a glower that he downed a spoonful of raw dough without a second thought. Eventually Basil nudged all three of them into their separate beds at a semi-decent hour, which both Sentinels accepted with nary a grumble. Greg resolved to have the man teach him that trick when all of this was over since he was certain he’d need it.

 

After being banished to bed, Greg spent an hour staring at the ceiling trying to sleep, honestly he did. He figured that on a day where he’d confronted his ex, been threatened by the Paris Centre, and pulled a gun on the Alpha Prime pair of everywhere that he was allowed to be a bit too wound up to nod off. It seemed bad form to rely on his usual calming method when he wouldn’t be the one cleaning the sheets in the morning and he really didn’t want his son to be asking him what that smell was. Neither did he think he could roam into Mycroft’s kitchen and eat the rest of the cookies they’d left sitting on the counter because that would lead straight to betrayed squeaks from Lee and an affronted Mycroft trying to pretend like he hadn’t been looking forward to post-breakfast cookies.

 

If Greg had been at his own flat he would’ve chalked the night up to lost and just gone back to work, but on this particular night he figured that was stupid on a couple of different counts. So, to the deceptively named plan D it was. Rather than actually going to get the D – which would be it’s own tangle of terrible questions he wasn’t ready to answer, either to his son or to himself – he grabbed the pack of cigs that Basil had permanently tucked away in the back of the bedside table in the guest room that Greg always slept in.

 

One of Mycroft’s security folk gave him the look when he stepped out the front door for a smoke, but the man could go suck an egg for all Greg cared, they’d left Mycroft on his own. Instead, Greg dropped himself to Mycroft’s front stoop and went through the soothing motions of lighting up and taking that first long draw on his cigarette. He’d have the same luck scrubbing this scent off as he would have with the other, but at least Lee knew full well what this smell was and already had was well-practiced at giving Greg his anti-smoking speech.

 

Out of the corner of his eye Greg could see another of Mycroft’s security fellows lurking around the side of the house, keeping a weather eye out at the black car parked down the street that was obviously there to keep tabs on Mycroft’s comings and goings. After today’s blowup Greg wasn’t too worried about anyone snatching him off the stoop and whisking him away into the night, but if it made the security folk feel better after today’s mess then Greg was willing to endure the lurking.

 

There was a small bit of activity on the street, even at this time of night. Though the activity that caught Greg’s eye wasn’t the couple down the way stumbling drunkenly towards their door, it was the fellow with unhurried strides coming down Greg’s side of the street. Greg logged his presence then focused on sighing out long breaths of smoke into the night sky of this surprisingly dark corner of London. Mycroft’s guard edged his way closer to the fence, but there was no stopping a man on the public roadway without giving the pair no doubt lurking in the car an excuse to intervene on public safety grounds.

 

Which meant that when the man came to stop beside Greg and snapped, “Cigarette smoke is damaging to Sentinels,” they both got treated to the undignified squeak of the guard who was no doubt going to get fired in the morning.

 

Greg didn’t bother looking up at him, just kept up the steady rhythm of his breath. “I know. I figured this was going to be the last chance I ever had to smoke so I might as well enjoy it.”

 

Daniel Collet wasn’t the kind of man to sit on a stoop, nor was the sort to actually lean against the railing that led up Mycroft’s front step. Instead he stood upwind and upright, hands buried in his pockets and eyes trying to drill a hole through Greg’s skull. “Isabelle told me.”

 

“Did she now?”

 

“Yes, Lestrade. All of it.”

 

“I know you think I’m dumber than a brick, but I’m not going to start asking you questions so you can figure out what you don’t know.”

 

“I’m not prying for information. I know about her affair with Isaac. I know he’s Lee’s father.”

 

Greg let out a dry chuckle. “Don’t let Lee hear you using the f word. I think he learned the term sperm donor just so he could use it on your Isaac.”

 

“The Paris Council won’t care about that distinction. Lee is the only heir to one of the greatest French Sentinel dynasties. They will bring him home.”

 

Greg closed his eyes and took a long drag rather than tell Daniel that he didn’t give a flying fuck what Paris cared about. “Do they know about Lee for sure?”

 

“Isaac is denying any knowledge about Leander’s existence. They won’t know for sure until they get a DNA test.”

 

“Izzy isn’t going to give them that.”

 

“She is giving them the silent treatment like a child who’s been denied a sweet, but her tantrums won’t be able to stop the Council when they get a court order.”

 

“By the time Mycroft lets them get through the courts Lee will be eighteen.”

 

“Holmes an abomination.” Daniel growled the word out, soaking it in disdain. That was enough to make Greg tilt his head back and look Lee’s grandfather in the eye.

 

“Considering that your rat bastard of a friend impregnated your daughter and then denied the existence of his son for the next decade, Mycroft isn’t the abomination here.”

 

“Isaac will have to be a part of Leander’s life. He _should_ have been part of Leander’s life this whole time.”

 

“That was Izzy’s choice to make.”

 

“And it was the wrong decision. Goodness knows I’ve done my best to help her perpetuate the fraud that you are Leander’s actual father. I put you on the birth certificate when Isabelle asked me, and I went so far as to have charges faked on your bank account to suggest that your first liason with my daughter occurred on her London business trip closest to Leander’s conception. But all of that—”

 

“I know.”

 

Daniel's rant stuttered to a stop but he didn’t waste time pretending like he didn’t know what Greg was referring to. “How?”

 

“Mycroft’s men found the traces of tampering when they did my background check after Sherlock decided I’d be the only one he’d work with.”

 

“They did not!”

 

Greg smirked. “You honestly think your men are better then the people Mycroft Holmes has on his payroll?”

 

“I used some of the best hackers in Europe to establish the fraud of you being Leander’s biological father.”

 

“And Mycroft’s hackers cleaned it up. Don’t be offended Daniel, it wouldn’t surprise me if Mycroft used MI-6 to get the job done.” For all that Daniel was a brilliant businessman, he still flinched. “Oh, did you think they were all stories? You want to sweep Lee off back to Paris and have he and Iz playing happy families with the man who cheated on his Guide, took your daughter as his mistress when she was too young to know better, and pretended his son didn’t exist. And worse still, you’ve just figured out that you’ve got to go up against one of the ghosts of the British government to make it happen.”

 

“Isabelle didn’t tell him about Leander.”

 

“That doesn’t make the whole thing better. She didn’t have to. Mycroft said there’s no way the bastard didn’t know he was a father. Sentinels always know.”

 

“Forgive me if I don’t trust the world of your lover over my best friend.”

 

“Your best friend who’s been fucking your daughter on the sly for fifteen years?”

 

Daniel wasn’t the sort of man who slapped people across the face, but Greg was damn sure that if he wouldn’t have ended up on the wrong side of a Sentinel’s gun for it, he would have smacked Greg down to the pavement for that. “ISaac said he had no idea about Leander’s existence and I believe him.”

 

“But you won’t believe me when I tell you that I’m not sleeping with Mycroft Holmes and that you should believe Mycroft because he’s an honorable man and _my_ best friend, and not because I like his dick.”

 

“Isaac wants what’s best for his son. Holmes wants what’s best for himself.”

 

“I’ll be sure to tell the Queen that the next time she tries to knight him for services to the crown.”

 

“If you’re just going to start making up nonsense—”

 

“That was the truth, and here’s another bit of truth: you don’t have a say in this. No matter how much you’ve regretted it every day since you had your lawyers do it, I’m the one on Lee’s birth certificate. I’m the one who held him when he was sick, and I’m the one who spent whole days on trains just so I could be there for his school performances. And the thing that will matter most to the European Council, I’m the one that Lee crossed borders to find when he was coming online. He chose _me_ to be the one to get him through this, and this is the one fucking time in her life when Izzy is going to trust my opinion instead of yours. Because your opinion leads straight back to the bastard who’s denying her son, and she’d rather cut all ties with you then have him play any kind of role in Lee’s life.” Lestrade snubbed the cigarette out and rose to his feet. “Do you remember when Izzy said to you the day she brought you over to meet me?”

 

Daniel remained stubbornly silent.

 

“She told you that I was going to be Lee’s father. That it didn’t matter who’d knocked her up, she was picking me. She’s never gone back on that decision no matter how many men you’ve shoved in her path. Lee is _my_ son, fuck genetics.”

 

Whatever demeaning shit Daniel would’ve said next got swallowed up in the wall of muscle that stepped in between them. It was a different security guard than the squeaker – who was no longer lurking by the fence, so apparently, Greg’s firing estimate had been off – and he led Daniel down the street with only his bulk while Lycius grabbed Greg by the arm and hauled him back into the house.

 

“I’m still pissed at you.” Greg grumbled.

 

“As you should be, sir.”

 

“Sir-ing me is just going to make it worse.”

 

“Only with you.”

 

“Then who are you making it better with?”

 

“Me.” Mycroft was standing at the foot of the stairs, button up pajamas, slippers, and a house coat.

 

The sight drove the urge to snap at Mycroft straight out of Greg’s head. “You’re teasing me now, aren’t you?”

 

“No, he’s really not.” Lycius said, then scuttled out of the room before Mycroft’s glower could land.

 

“Mycroft,” Greg sighed, “ _sweatpants_. Or if you’re going to go the posh route with your trousers, at least put on a T-SHIRT.”

 

“Does Mr. Collet know that you’re deliberately crass with him?”

 

Ah… when Mycroft went for the jugular it meant he was actually angry, a version of the man that Greg absolutely wasn’t in the mood to deal with tonight. “No. Izzy broke off an engagement when she met me. The old bastard never forgave me for the lost income.”

 

“She wouldn’t have married the man anyway.”

 

“And everyone knew it. But if she’d stayed engaged to him a bit longer then they could’ve closed the deal. I don’t mind Daniel hating me for messing up his plans, but I lose my temper when he starts threatening to kick me out of Lee’s life.”

 

“Mr. Collet lacks the legal authority to do so.”

 

“Izzy has done a lot of things to make her father happy that she didn’t want to do.”

 

“Have any of them been to the detriment of her son?”

 

“No. But I figure I ought to be defending my parental rights at least as much as she does.”

 

“Those rights will grow excessively more complicated now that Leander is coming online. The various Centres are aggressive in the protection of the rights of Gifted children and believe in locating them wherever they feel the most comfortable.”

 

Greg was too tired for the half a dozen rounds of verbal sparring that were usually necessary to get Mycroft to confess anything. “You’ve told me all this before.”

 

“I have not.”

 

“I can read between the lines. Are you going to tell me what’s got you so upset?” Greg walked over to Mycroft, climbing the few stairs between them to even out their heights just a bit. “And don’t deny it. You’re out and about in your jim-jams. That’s a sign.”

 

“It’s midnight, Gregory. A person should be in their pajamas at midnight.” Greg had bought his pajama bottoms in a two pack at ASDA, and had tossed on an old rugby shirt before he left his room. Quite the contrast to the pajama equivalent of a three-piece suit that Mycroft was in, though he didn’t say anything about how Mycroft’s pajamas didn’t seem right for sleeping, or anything else for that matter.

 

“A person should be in bed at midnight. What’s got you up and about?”

 

“You’re not as sneaky as you hope to be, Gregory.”

 

“Did I wake you up?”

 

“If I woke at the sound of people moving about my house then I would never have an ounce of sleep.”

 

“Then what happened, Croft?” Greg made it up that final step and hovered there chest to chest for a moment before he stepped to the side.

 

Mycroft eyes fluttered closed and he breathed out long and slow at the sudden lack of warmth a hair’s breadth away from him. Greg imagined that if it hasn’t been midnight, and if the day hadn’t been quite so tumultuous, and if he hadn’t been being a tease then Mycroft never would have said next what he did. “Do you not understand what happened today, Inspector? I attempted to attack the Alpha Sentinel Prime… with my _fists_. I haven’t resorted to physical violence to make a point since I was a child.”

 

“It wasn’t your fault, Croft.”

 

Greg pressed his hand to the small of Mycroft’s back and had a whole speech ready. He’d been expecting a bit of a reaction to his loss of control. Greg planned on reminding the man that there had been special circumstances, and having children around when you weren’t used to them tended to excite everyone’s instincts so he couldn’t imagine how much worse it would be for a Sentinel. Only, Mycroft cut off his attempt to soothe with a snapped, “No, it was yours.”

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

Whatever he’d been about to say, Mycroft visibly swallowed it back when Greg took his hand away. “My apologies, Gregory. It seems I am far more tired than I originally gave myself credit for and my temper is short, which you do not deserve. If you will excuse me, I will go back to bed now.” Mycroft turned on his heels and started up the stairs.

 

“Bullshit. You never say things you don’t mean.”

 

Mycroft didn’t stop moving. “I believe that today would be the prime example that I do, in fact, lose control of myself on occasion and I would ask that you not hold my slip of tongue against me.”

 

“Mycroft, what happened today?”

 

“Asking me again will not change the explanation I already gave you.”

 

Greg grabbed Mycroft by the arm and wrenched him around, forcing the man to look him in the eye rather than keep up his escape down the hall. “I’d believe your excuse about stress if I hadn’t been with you in the hospital when Sherlock OD-ed. There’s no way in the world that my boy losing his temper set you off worse than Sherlock flatlining right in front of you.”

 

“Gregory--”

 

“No, I remember the aides trying to drag you out of the fucking room because they didn’t think Sherlock’s brother should watch as they tried to shock his heart back into beating. You shrugged those men off, but you didn’t punch them. What had to be one of the worst moments in your life and you didn’t hit anybody. So what happened today? What did I do?”

 

“Leave him alone, Dad.” Lee’s little voice broke through Greg’s steady advance.

 

Greg’s parental wiring turned back on and he gave up all his ground to herd his son back to bed. “Lee, you’re supposed to be asleep. And we’ve talked about listening to grownup conversations before.”

 

“You said you weren’t going to have any more today.”

 

“It’s late enough to be tomorrow.”

 

“Mycroft hasn’t gone to bed yet so it’s still today for him.”

 

“And how do you know that?”

 

“He’s...” Out of the corner of his eye Greg caught Mycroft shaking his head no, and Lee finished his sentence, “been on the phone.”

 

And wasn’t that just the worst possible version of everything Greg had hoped for? Lee liked Mycroft enough to trust him, but that trust meant he was lying to Greg. “I’m not daft, you know. I can tell there’s something going on with you two.”

 

“It’s a Sentinel thing, Dad.” Greg plastered on a smile and pretended like he was amused by the retort. With that smile firmly in place he ushered both the Sentinels back to bed, which Lee took with a kiss and Mycroft ignored entirely to followed Greg back and lurk in his doorway.

 

Greg let Mycroft stand there while he tucked the cigarettes away in their hiding place and stepped into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Mycroft was still there when Greg came back out, and still with that pinched expression that Sherlock got when he was actually trying to be courteous. But of course, like Sherlock, when Mycroft opened his mouth he managed to fumble it entirely. “You’re an open wound.”

 

Greg didn’t know if Mycroft meant that’s what Greg felt like to their senses, or if that was some veiled reference to what Greg was to Mycroft, or merciful heavens, for Lee. Either way, Greg had lost his will to fight about it. “I’ll try and keep my messy emotions to myself, then.”

 

“Gregory…”

 

Greg tugged on his ear and sent a pointed look in the direction of Lee’s room. Mycroft stepped just inside the doorway and tugged the door closed behind him, tapping out a code on his phone that triggered a little green light beside the door that Greg figured meant they were secure. “Why didn’t you turn that on when you were on the _phone_?”

 

“Because Leander shouldn’t be able to hear through the soundproofing that’s already in place. I didn’t mean it to be an insult.”

 

“I’m tired, Mycroft. You know that someday your kid is going to go someplace you can’t help them, but you don’t think it’s going to happen while they’re still a kid.” Mycroft didn’t have anything to say. “You were going back to bed, Croft.”

 

“He won’t leave you behind.”

 

“I damn well won’t let him. But being a Sentinel I’ll never be able to help him with.”

 

“Your mere presence is helpful, Gregory. I will be there to help him with the rest.”

 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Mycroft.”

 

“Inspector—”

 

“Go to bed, Mycroft.” It looked like it pained him to do so, but Mycroft went.


	12. Chapter 12

No matter how else had happened over the last two days – shit, had it really only been that long? – Greg was first and foremost a father. His job was important to him, as were his friends, and whatever strange twisted way Lee being in London would benefit England, but Greg’s main priority was always going to be his son. Which meant that when Lee popped his head around the door and hovered there nervous that Greg might still be upset like he was last night, Greg let it go. Lee had always had a sense for telling when Greg was upset and just pretending like he wasn’t, so Greg had long ago mastered the skill of moving on. There was a part of him that wished he could go outside for a smoke, or maybe spend the day tucked in bed and binging on Bond until he felt better about the universe, but that wasn’t a luxury that fathers often got.

 

Instead, Greg rolled out of bed with a laugh, slinging Lee over his shoulder and making his way downstairs for breakfast. Judging by Mycroft’s furrow, this obviously wasn’t the Greg he’d been expecting to see. While Mycroft managed a deadpan that had probably served him well over decades of public service, Lycius fled the room as fast as he could after his check ins while Lee said that Anthea hadn’t stayed for breakfast.

 

“I thought Sundays weren’t supposed to be busy for you?” Greg asked.

 

“There are a large number of people who prefer getting an early start on the week,” Mycroft said, which wasn’t an answer at all, no matter how much Mycroft wanted it to be. Greg imagined that if his house hadn’t been invaded Mycroft would be one of those early bird people. But presumably, that was just another thing that was Greg’s fault.

 

Run-ins with the department’s dogs had taught Greg that fear had a smell, and he assumed that the sting of rejection did as well. So when Lee popped up from his waffles with a puckered nose, Greg figured that he had to be the source. He closed his eyes as he sipped on his coffee, pretending that he was soaking in the delicious flavor rather that trying to envision his pain wrapped in a little bubble that was blowing away. (A dozen personnel trainings over the years and the advice was most useful in parenting.) Mycroft had too good a handle on his senses to be put off by the effort, though from the way he kept his eyes on the morning’s paper Greg couldn’t tell if Mycroft was pretending he hadn’t noticed, or if he’d long since stopped paying attention to when people were pained around him because if he did he’d never smell anything else.

 

It was, all in all, a perfectly horrible way to spend the morning. Greg couldn’t brush aside the thought that he was probably leaking his pain all over the place, which was just proving Mycroft’s point. Goodness knew what Greg was accidentally doing to Lee that he couldn’t properly defend himself against. And was Greg never allowed to be hurt ever again by anything someone said to him in front of Lee? Because that was going to make his teenage years a mess.

 

And yes, Greg had been a bit brokenhearted at the reality that already his boy was grown enough that there were things he couldn’t help him through, but that certainly didn’t seem like it had risen to the level of ‘open wound’ that deserved a scolding. Or maybe Greg was just always leaking his emotions all over the place and now that there was a baby Sentinel in the picture it was something he needed to address? Though Greg couldn’t imagine a world where Sherlock wouldn’t have told Greg at least a dozen times that he was emoting at a crime scene just to be a little shit.

 

Of course, speak of the devil and he shall interrupt your mid-morning breakdown. Sherlock and John stumbled up the basement stairs that were buried deep in the back of the pantry, stairs that Greg had thought dead-ended in the wine cellar. “Where did you two come from?” Greg asked.

 

“There’s a tunnel through the house in the back.” John had that bright smile he got when they were engaging in the sort of nonsense behavior that people only did in mystery novels.

 

“You broke in?”  


“No breaking, Inspector. Only entering. I had the code.”

 

“You absolutely did not.” Mycroft corrected.

 

“Semantics. They’re coming.”

 

Mycroft dropped his fork and sprang up from the table. “Did you—”

 

“Obviously. You knew already.”

 

“Gregory, take Leander upstairs to your room. Lock the door, arm the soundproofing, and stay there until I one of us comes for you.”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Do you honestly think—”

 

“What would Uncle have done?”

 

There was a terrible pause, and Sherlock declared, “John, go with them.”

 

That was enough of that. Lee was whipping back and forth to watch the brother’s argue, every word terrifying him more and more. Greg stood up and took Lee with him. “Excuse me! I’ve run away enough times this week that I’d like to know what in the hell is going on before I do it again!”

 

“The UN judge was French.” Mycroft declared. Greg remembered what it felt like the day his ex-wife told him she’d been cheating on him, what it felt like when his parents had died, and the first time he’d had to tell a copper’s wife that her husband had been stabbed on Greg’s watch. None of those were quite like this. Greg had known something was wrong with his marriage for months before she confessed, and his parents had been sick for years, and they’d been chasing a murderer around the docks. All of those outcomes, as horrible as they were, were something he’d expected.

 

But this… Mycroft Holmes being wrong wasn’t something Greg had ever anticipated would happen. Honest to goodness, Greg had though the worse case scenario was getting on a plane to America, not Mycroft losing him his son.

 

“But we’re his parents.” Greg’s voice broke. “He’s ours. They don’t have the right to take him away from us just because they don’t like what country he’s in!”

 

“You’re right. They don’t.”

 

“Then what in the world are they doing?”

 

“They’re attempting to gain possession of Leander before the decision is inevitably appealed.”

 

“By turning up here and expecting me to turn him over when his mother and I already said no?”

 

“Precisely.” Sherlock interrupted. “Now get upstairs.”

 

“What kind of father would turn his son over to people he doesn’t know?”

 

“The law-abiding kind. Go upstairs.”

 

For all he was pocket-sized, John Watson was fierce when he put his mind to something. He had Greg bundled off towards the stairs before he could voice another objection. John kept up a steady murmur about how everything would be fine in that mellow doctor’s tone he used on the constables when they were about to beat Sherlock over the head. Greg didn't hear a word of it.

 

Neither, it seemed, did Lee. The boy propped his chin on Greg's shoulder and kept his eyes behind them the entire walk, though his focus wasn’t on John nudging them along, it was on Mycroft standing right where Greg had left him with that strange expression he got when he was taking record of an image to call it back later. Greg caught the barest glance of that piercing gaze before they turned the corner to climb the stairs.

 

The world whirled around silent Mycroft as he fought back the urge to send man and child downstairs to the safe room disguised as a bedroom. Greg had been distracted enough that first night that he didn’t ask any questions about why they’d been housed there rather than his usual bedroom, but given the terrible twists of today, Mycroft had no faith in his luck. Mycroft Holmes had never been the kind of man who believed in luck in the first place. He believed in hard work and research, and that those two things were all a person needed to bend the world to their will. (And yes, he counted networking amongst the things he had worked hard to achieve.) He considered all those who relied upon fortune to favor their endeavors as idiots who deserved their luck to change and the world to twist out underneath them and take away all it had bestowed.

 

There was a part of Mycroft that wondered if his own belief system had triggered the events of the last few days. Mycroft had always known full well who Leander’s birth father was, and he had a long-term plan prepared to establish a relationship with the boy before he ever came online. However, in his earliest predictions Mycroft hadn’t anticipated Leander coming online before twelve. Pre-pubescent emergence was so rare as to be a statistical impossibility, and Mycroft had trusted in math.

 

According to the law of probabilities, Mycroft should have met Leander on accident. Already he was the sort of young man who would drop by his father’s flat with no prior notice, and only Mycroft’s security personnel would keep them from being interrupted by the boy mid-coitus. Slightly less likely on the scale of probabilities would be Gregory summoning the courage to actually introduce Mycroft to his son as – pardon the terrible expression – his boyfriend. Either way, their meeting would occur well before Leander was likely to come online so that in the earliest stages of his emergence Mycroft would be informed and would be able to not only transition Leander into life as a Sentinel, but also teach him how to keep himself properly shielded so that he could choose who might distinguish him as an alpha, a trick that would conveniently keep people from realizing his birth father. In truth, Mycroft had been intending to plant suggestions that it was Leander being around him in his formative years that helped trigger his emergence and not any genetic connection to Isaac Dubois.

 

Only, it was pure dumb luck that had had Inspector Lestrade in charge of the first case that Sherlock had decided to interfere with, a man who had listened to Sherlock and then told him to get clean if he wanted to be taken seriously rather than any other Inspector on the force who would have thrown Sherlock into lockup and likely sent him even deeper into his spiral. Luck had brought Lestrade into their lives, and just as Mycroft believed, luck had decided to turn on them.

 

John was no doubt upstairs informing Gregory and Leander that in a fit of bribery, stupidity, and luck the Paris Centre had been granted not only a pro-Centre, but also an anti-English judge. Mycroft’s connections had done their utmost to cry foul, but there was no reversing a judge’s assignment because no one believed he would act so flagrantly in violation of common sense. The appellate procedure was underway, but that didn't mean a damn thing when he had Gregory and Leander hiding upstairs scared, and the Beta pair of the French Council settled on his sitting room sofa.

 

Immediately Mycroft knew that Ellison and Sandberg had not informed anyone about his slip yesterday. If they had, Sentinel Martin and Guide Bernard wouldn’t have taken the risk of sitting, and only a fool would have brought Daniel Collet into Mycroft’s home. Anthea took the sofa across from the three men, while Sandberg ignored all decorum and sat the coffee table and Ellison stood in the doorway, though he had the decency to stand just far enough forward that Lycius could keep his eyes on everyone in the room. Mycroft had chosen his typical wingback chair beside the fireplace. Sherlock cast aside any notion of symmetry or power structures and stood with his back to the room, looking out the front window at the street – keeping his own watch over the room in the glass’s reflection. Most telling about the silence that the Beta pair kept was that the British Council had sent Sentinel Abernathy as their representative, and the man had chosen to lean against the mantle and loom down at Mycroft.

 

Court order or not, the real task would be gaining Mycroft’s consent to Leander’s removal, so the only question in Mycroft’s mind was which approach they would employ, a question which was answered when Abernathy asked, “Shall we get this over with, Holmes?"”

 

“To precisely which ‘this’ are you referring?”

 

“Don't be glib,” Collet snapped. “You know full well that we are here to take my grandson home.”

 

“I do believe the court order grants Martin and Bernard the right to remove Leander to the Paris Centre. Your name and your place of residence are not mentioned at all.”

 

“Don’t let him distract you.” Martin interrupted. “For his own protection, the Paris Sentinel and Guide Centre has been granted physical custody of Leander Collet. We ask that you respect the court’s ruling and release him into our custody immediately and without objection.”

 

“I’m afraid I cannot do either of those things.”

 

“Let me be clear, Holmes, we have several security pairs waiting outside, both from the Paris Centre and those Ellison and Sandberg brought with them. If you fail to comply with this order willingly, we will force your compliance.”

 

“You cannot force compliance. When it is forced, it ceases to be compliance and the word loses all semblance of its original meaning.”

 

“And would that be your pathetic attempt at refusal without using the words?”

 

“In truth, it was an attempt to protect you from the embarrassment of posturing any further when you’re going to fail in your attempt. Leander will not be leaving this house without his full consent and the approval of both of his parents.”

 

“You cannot _refuse_ to release him simply because you feel like being difficult, Holmes.” Abernathy interjected, cutting the French representatives off before they could lose their tempers in such a way that Mycroft would have legal justification for throwing them out. (Court orders could not be enforced with fists, no matter how much that was what a lifetime of training had prepared the Beta pair for.) “Well, I suppose you can, but refusing to comply with a court order is the kind of thing that might cost you your job.”

 

“While you are no doubt unaware of this, when a person is good at their job, they are granted a certain amount of leeway when they are being confronted by absurdity.”

 

Abernathy leaned in close, as though every Sentinel in the house wouldn’t be able to hear him. “You know it’s ridiculous, and I know it’s ridiculous, but they got the order. Greg isn’t the kind of man who’d deliberately try and damage his kid, and I doubt he’d leave his child in the custody a woman who’s that kind of person either. I’m sure the order will be overturned in a matter of days, but that won’t happen if you disrespect the court’s ruling now. You _know_ this. Let Martin and Bernard take the little Alpha to Paris, the Primes will stay with him the entire time so you don’t have to worry about French interference, and focus yourself on getting Greg back his custody.”

 

“That all sounds delightfully reasonable, Sentinel Abernathy. However, I will not be able to comply with it. I gave my word that I would not let Leander leave this house without his approval.”

 

The three Sentinels looked over to Sandberg, obviously expecting him to lull Mycroft into compliance. However, Blair was looking at Mycroft like he hadn’t anticipated the words coming out of Mycroft’s mouth at all, but he was thrilled with them nonetheless.

 

“Well then, Bernard and I will inform the security personnel that their services are needed.”

 

“Feel free. Though out of concern for your band of brothers mentality I suggest that you also inform them that any person who attempts to remove Leander from this house with force will be granted conclusive proof that all the gossip woefully underestimated my viciousness.”

 

“What is going on!” Collet shouted, leaping to his feet. “You’re being ridiculous, Holmes! You can't win this, and every minute you fight it you’re just further damaging your career and your standing in our community!”

 

“What a wonderful thing that I don't care then. I told you Mr. Collect, I gave my word and I will not break it.”

 

“Oh.”

 

For all that the room had been a bundle of unbridled tension before, the sudden presence of Gregory Lestrade somehow managed to make it near tangible for two very distinct reasons. The Frenchmen loathed his very existence – both for daring to call himself Leander’s father when common sense insisted he wasn’t, and for being the reason that Mycroft Holmes had gotten involved. (Abernathy’s loathing came from a more generalized upset at Gregory for being involved in anything Sentinel oriented.)

 

Ellison and Sandberg, however, along with everyone in the house who knew about yesterday, were tuned in to the sudden uptick in Mycroft’s heart rate and the way his pupils dilated at he rush of adrenaline that came from Gregory’s presence in a room full of people who would no doubt like to damage him. Gregory Lestrade was, at this moment, the spark that could accidentally and unknowingly set off a powder keg of European Sentinel relations and upend a whole system that had been more or less functioning since the 1940s.

 

Lestrade, however, was unaware of al of this and only had eyes for Mycroft. A man who, despite the world-altering threats he had been leveling mere moments before, looked a bit upended himself by the stunned expression on Lestrade’s face.

 

“Are you honestly going to pretend that you didn't know we were here?” Collet snapped, either ignorant of the room’s tensions or willing to barrel straight through them.

 

“That's not what he’s oh-ing.” Sherlock said. His eyes flicked back and forth between his brother and his Inspector. “Lestrade is, in fact, an inspector. And contrary to your opinion he is capable of deducing things. That noise means he has just put the evidence together. It took him an unpardonable amount of time, but he got there eventually.”

 

“Didn't you delete this?” Mycroft asked.

 

“John wouldn’t let me.”

 

“Right. I’ll tease you for that later. Everybody out.” Greg insisted.

 

“You have no right to—”

 

“Inspector Lestrade has been instructed to treat this home as his own and he has all the right in the world to cast you out of it.” Anthea interrupted.

 

“Not when they’re executing a lawful court order, he doesn’t.” Abernathy said. “I know you don't like it Greg, but we swore an oath to uphold the law.”

 

“You don’t get to lecture people about oaths when you’ve fucked four of your last five lieutenants.”

 

As one all of the Sentinels turned to stare at Abernathy, because not a single one of them had picked up that detail with any of their senses in the time they’d been around one other. Judging by Abernathy’s tomato-red complexion, the accusation was true. “More pertinent, though significantly less interesting, I must admit,” Anthea interrupted, “our appeal has come through.”

 

“That’s impossible.” Bernard spat.

 

Anthea gave a jaunty shake of her phone. “You chose to bribe the original judge without taking into account the appellate judges who would review the case. They were so appalled by the lack of evidence that he took from Leander’s side of things that they overturned his decision immediately and already have suspended him from the bench. He will lose his license to practice law over this.”

 

:You’re making things up.”

 

“Nope.” Blair added, his own phone in hand. “I just got forwarded the documents. The court offers their sincerest apologies to Ms. Collet and Mr. Lestrade for any stress this may have caused them and for the lower court’s failure to listen to the same evidence that they were privy to when making their decision.”

 

“Evidence?” Greg asked, and there went the tension again. At the flush of rage from the French delegation Lycius stepped in between Gregory and them.

 

Sandburg flicked his gaze to Mycroft and then Anthea, and then in perhaps the worst example of lying Greg had ever seen, said the court didn't mention specifics. “Lyc and Anthea weren't at the office last night, you sent them to Paris.”

 

Mycroft didn’t flinch. “The judge had accepted Mr. Collet’s testimony before he left France, as well as the testimony of several other members of the Paris Centre who had neither met Leander nor seen his current conditions. It was only logical that he should be exposed to our opinions on the matter.”

 

“But he wasn’t.”

 

“It was heavily implied that he was certain that he had all the information he needed, so Anthea and Lycius made sure their testimony reached the correct appellate judges since we obviously would be challenging the decision.”

 

“The _right_ judges?” Daniel snapped. “So you bribed the appellate court!”

 

“I don't give a flying fuck if he did.” Greg interrupted whatever long-winded explanation was about to be offered. “I’ve told you to get the hell out of this house. Lyc, show them out.”

 

Martin rose to his not inconsiderable height, but before he could make a move, Ellison stepped forward. “Why don't I see everyone back to the Centre and now that lawyers are off the table we can discuss this like civilized people.”

 

Greg was sure there was whining, and that someone declared the appellate decision didn’t count, or that maybe they should take Leander back to the Centre with them, but Greg didn't hear any of it. Between Anthea and Sherlock all of their arguments would be rubble, and Lycius and Ellison could throw them all out the front door while poor Sandberg probably regretted ever getting on a plane. Greg ignored all that, and with a quick jerk of his head towards the doorway took off up the stairs with a much more sedate Mycroft following behind him.

 

Greg went straight to Mycroft’s bedroom and stood in the center, bouncing on his toes while he waited not so patiently for Mycroft to make his way up without looking like he’d been summoned.

 

The second the privacy protocols engaged he said, “I apologize for the situation this morning. I had intended for the original decision to be overturned before the others ever got the opportunity to arrive at my door. The case was already before the appellate court when they received word about the original decision and had they been operating under any principles of common sense they would have waited until that decision was finalized rather than risk precisely what happened. By reacting without all the facts they’ve already damaged their bargaining position beyond repair.”

 

“I don’t think they give a shit about that. And I don’t either. You’re in love with me.”

 

It wasn’t often that Greg got to see Mycroft stunned, and he had to admit, there was a certain pleasure that came from causing it for something good. “You were aware of this already.”

 

“ _No,_ you being in love with me is brand new information.”

 

“Gregory, I allowed you into my home. I pledged myself to training your son. I potentially jeopardized my career to protect your interests.”

 

“I know, I know, but I thought you’d be able to straighten things out to protect yourself. I knew you were fond of me but I didn’t think it was _love._ You never said anything to me about it, or hinted like you and Sherlock do when you don’t want to come out and say something!”

 

“I never hinted? Gregory… how dramatic do my hints need to be for you to acknowledge them?”

 

“I thought you were just being nice!” Greg flailed a bit more than he’d want to admit to.

 

“I’m never nice.”

 

“Don’t pull that bullshit on me, I’ve seen you with your brother. I assumed you were being good to me because Sherlock wasn’t going to do it. I knew you liked my hair and you stare at my ass enough that you don’t mind the way I look, but you never said anything directly so I assumed it was more a visual appreciation than wanting an actual date.”

 

“While I do appreciate many of your physical attributes, it was never a matter of not wanting the typical accouterments of a relationship, it was always a matter of timing. You were married when we met, and then I sought to give you enough time to recover from your marriage so that you would never harbor doubts that our relationship began because you were, as they say, on the rebound, or that it began out of some misguided act of compassion on my part.”

 

“I’ve let you get me off topic. Let me just…” Lestrade waived his hands like that would clear his mind. “You love me.”

 

Mycroft lacked the sense of other human beings that guided so much of the world, but even he could tell this was not a time to delay. “Yes.”

 

“And you like my kid.”

 

“Surprisingly well, yes.”

 

“Five years we’ve known each other and you pull your head out of your ass only after my kid shows up?”

 

“My head was precisely where it’s supposed to be. I had a long-term plan and Leander’s change in status has simply shifted the timetable.”

 

“You had a plan.”

 

“I always have a plan.”

 

“When were you going to ask me out?”

 

“You were going to ask me. The next time Sherlock used your ID card to break into the cold case files you were going to call me to complain and ask what measures you might take to prevent him from doing so again. I would say only fear of me was what kept him from thievery, and even then only in the most desperate of circumstances. You would suggest that I should use some of that fear to protect the Yard.

 

“Sherlock would come back that afternoon with the missing files, you would call me to say thank you, and I would say that while I don’t care a bit about the Yard’s concerns, I will always attempt to protect you. You would pause, as you do when you think I have flirted with you accidentally, and tell me that you owe me dinner in gratitude. I would say I was available that night, and so it would begin.”

 

Greg… could perfectly picture that happening. In fact, the last time Sherlock had done that very thing Greg had had to forcibly stop himself from calling up Mycroft to complain. “You probably even had a plan in place to send Sherlock to the cold case locker to move things along, didn’t you?”

 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

 

Greg pressed his palms to Mycroft’s chest and dragged them down to rest on his belly. Mycroft’s breath hitched, and Greg lifted his hands away and in the breath before Mycroft spoke, he shoved him back against the door. “Gregory?”

 

“Well, now that we’re on the same page, let’s be on the same page.” Greg leaned in tight against Mycroft’s chest and gave him a devouring kiss. It took half a breath for Mycroft’s hands to settled on Greg’s ass and hauled him up into his arms.

 

Sometimes it was nice to be surprising.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for sticking with me through this. This story took a heck of a lot longer to get out than I thought it would, and every bit of it was like pulling teeth. Your support helped me stay motived, and I'm grateful for every bit of it.


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